Please, pardon my ‘potty pen’

For reasons unknown to me, my 11-year-old granddaughter has been asking me about how, and mostly where, we went to the bathroom in the olden days. She just doesn’t seem to understand the necessity of a chamber pot or outhouse.
    Since I am old enough to have used both on the ranch, I must “pass” along some of the “potty” stories of my youth. Old-timers will no doubt reminisce, while hopefully, younger readers will expand their knowledge of those “good old days.”
    Below is a postcard from the 1920s explaining the “thundermug.” Just a warning, the next couple of Postcards from the Past will be about outhouses. Better save this newspaper for use in the “two-holer.”

The Passing of the Pot
As far back in childhood
As memory may go
One household vessel greets me
That wasn’t meant for show.

Beneath the bed ‘twas anchored
Where only few could see
But served the entire family
With equal privacy.

Some called the critter “Peggy”
And some the “Thundermug”
And others called it “Badger”
A few called it “Jug.”

To bring it in at evening
Was bad enough, no doubt,
But heave help the person
Who had to tote it out.

A big one was enormous
And would accommodate
A watermelon party
Composed of six or eight.

When nights were dark and rainy
It was a useful urn.
On icy winter mornings
The cold rim seemed to burn.

At times when things were rushing,
And business extra good,
Each took his turn awaiting
Or did the best he could.

Sometimes when in a hurry
To our disgust and shame
We fumbled in the darkness
And slightly missed our aim.

The special one for company
Was decorated well.
But just the same it rendered
That old familiar smell.

Today this modernism
Relieves me a lot.
And only in my vision
I see that homely pot.