I was nine years old that Sunday morning of December 7, 1941. I sat with my parents and my 13-year-old sister beside the radio as Franklin Delano Roosevelt announced the event that changed my life and the lives of people all over the United States. "The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor," President Roosevelt announced.

The papers were filled with war news. Submarines were reported close to the shores of California. I began having dreams of planes bombing my world. Many nights I woke up in a cold sweat. The dreams lasted past my teens. The United States wasn't bombed, but it seemed near.

In the spring of 1942 one of my teachers had us plant our own Victory Gardens, but I didn't get to see my garden grow because my parents decided that California wasn't a good place to live during a war. So we moved first to Arkansas, then to Washington. By the time I was 11 we were settled in Colorado, back in La Junta where all my relatives lived.

Radio programs talked about the war, movies were filled with sad love stories of soldiers leaving home. Newsreels in movie theaters kept us informed of current events of the war.

La Junta had an air base. One of my friends in the sixth grade lived in an apartment with her Army father and her mother. The town was full of soldiers and it was easy to find baby-sitting jobs. I remember a New Year's Eve when I stayed all night with a baby of a young Army couple. My mother saved our icicles and tinsel every year. Our tree looked festive but their sad little Christmas tree was decorated by a few homemade decorations. You couldn't buy anything as frivolous as Christmas decorations.

Music was sad and beautiful, "Together," "A New Flag on Iwo Jima," "Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition," "This is the Army Mr.Jones," "When the Lights go on Again," "They're Either Too Young Or Too Old." I saved my baby sitting money and bought the sheet music so I could play those songs on the piano.

I remember the USO because my sister went there. The USO in La Junta was in a large corner building by the old depot. The interior was decorated with streamers. Bands played for dances. Sometimes the band was made up of soldiers. One time a famous big band came to town. The band members stayed in the only hotel in town, the Kit Carson Hotel. I could hardly wait to get old enough to go to the USO. Fortunately by the time I got old enough to go to the USO the war was over and the La Junta USO was closed down.

Windows had flags with stars in them. A gold star meant that someone was dead. My Grandma Wilson rented her front room to soldiers. One of those soldiers later became my brother-in-law.

We saved money and bought war stamps in school. The comics were full of war and posters told us not to talk carelessly. I never understood what that meant; I didn't know anything anyway.

Hats were popular, we wore rolled up jeans, pleated skirts and dirty saddle oxfords. There were no nylon stockings, we painted our legs with leg paint and had a problem creating straight seams down the middle of our legs.

Shortages were our biggest problem, ration stamps and ration books were a mystery to me. I didn't have to worry about them. I didn't have to cook. We walked everywhere and Sunday drives were very short.

My parents shopped at the local Safeway Store, it was cheaper, but there were numerous little grocery stores in town. There was a shortage of many things and the smaller grocery stores saved the rare things for their loyal customers. They had to make a living too.

Strange the trivial things that live in our memory. Sugar was scarce and marshmallows unheard of.

Now today, when I can buy all the marshmallows I want they don't interest me, but in that day I thought marshmallows were the rarest treat in the world.

My mother had a recipe for making marshmallows; she cooked it, put it in a pan and cut it like fudge. There wasn't any fudge in that day. All I remember about that homemade marshmallow candy is that she used Gelatin and it tasted a little bit like marshmallows.

Junior Haynes, a boy in my 6th grade class, had a birthday party one day. I was invited and I remember that party well. They played post office, it didn't interest me. I wasn't interested in kissing yet and besides the boy they tried to pair me off with was the same one who threw snowballs at us in the wintertime. Who wanted to kiss a boy who put rocks in snowballs?

What I remember most about that birthday party were the refreshments -- I don't know what we ate but I remember what we drank. Junior Haynes' mother fixed hot chocolate and floating in the center was a REAL marshmallow. I figured Junior Haynes must be very important to be able to serve such a luxurious drink at his birthday party.

That hot chocolate was delicious. That's when I discovered that Gelatin marshmallows would never replace a REAL marshmallow.