tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55253390686326891402024-02-07T19:42:06.933-06:00Old Trunks & Worn ShoesELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.comBlogger1237125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-30310680203223271272013-09-23T08:02:00.002-05:002013-09-23T08:02:12.379-05:00Is there a Genie in the brass lamp?Autumn 2013<br />
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A few summers ago, a few class mates sat around the table. We talked about all the stuff we had that belonged to parents, grandparents, and probably even farther back. The problem is if you have one set of parents, two sets of grandparents, and heaven help us all, if we have grandparents and aunts and uncles we don't even know about--or at least don't know they have STUFF!<br />
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If you are clueless about that I am talking about, then, you don't have three sets of glasses and four sets of silver plate the next generation doesn't seem to want. They don't want to hand wash fine china that you MAY NOT put in the microwave. They don't want to wash silver plate which is not dish machine safe. <br />
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They don't want to know the story about Uncle Harry taking a bite out of the stemmed glass ware or Uncle Otto doing the same with a salad plate. They don't care if Father promised Mother before the family gathered for dinner that IF a piece did get broken, it would be replaced. The beauty of it all is all of it was open stock; it was an era when one could buy by the piece or eaches.<br />
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None of the items I am talking about are that old, sixty plus, I suppose.<br />
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Yet, interestingly enough a piece from the pass did get passed along recently. It was a thirteen pound brass lamp from the mid sixties. We had taken it from Mother's house in 2002 when she died but thought it much to tall for our needs. It needed a corner table with seating on both sides. I should be a duel use lamp. (After all that is what it had always been--duel lighting between two sofas, or davenports as mother called them).<br />
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Now you can say what ever you want about Facebook or other social media as well as phones with cameras or IPADS with cameras but somehow it communicates more or less that one would like or in some cases not want. Yet when a family member posted a picture taken with her phone of her new sofas, I needed to take a picture with my IPAD to send to her EMAIL account so she could look at the lamp and decide if she wanted it. But I had to snail mail a picture of her at 45 weeks with her Dad sitting on the sofa with the lamp in the back ground so she could see the original shade.<br />
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And so the 100 dollars set aside for birthday became:<br />
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$53.02 for wrap, ship, and insurance<br />
47.00 for lamp shade<br />
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That works out! She is forty-seven this birthday!<br />
Two cents is NOT over budget. <br />
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The question remains, is there a Genie in the lamp?<br />
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ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-75707173674337566682013-04-16T09:17:00.002-05:002013-04-16T09:17:13.991-05:00THE RED TOP CABINSThere is no group of cabins listed in the 1938 Thief River Falls city directory called the RED TOP CABINS. It isn't that cabins by some other name didn't exist. Old Trunks needs to do more research to find the name; we can guess they had red roofs, don't you suppose?<br />
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It is hard to understand why cabins were peppered about the block of Ten Hundred Main Avenue North. Not only are the Red Top Cabins listed in the 1940-41 directory but they were owned by Randall and Verna Noper. And there was a 'filling station' on the east corner of Main and Tenth with rooms upstairs. We know that because Frank Mousley writes to Dayton Silk who pumped gas and lived above the station. <br />
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We know from the 1940 census map that cabins existed on the east side between Austad's and Wilson's on the corner. Beverly Austad Ranum talked about horses being stabled near the alley. There were also cabins behind the corner of Eleventh and Main. What purpose did they served? Who lived in them? How big where they. What and how many transients were there in Thief River Falls and what did they do? Where they seasonal labor? <br />
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Frank stated that Gus H. lived in one of the cabins on the west side of the street. Gus H. stated it was for a short time before they moved to the farm. I am thinking his sister would be too young to remember. <br />
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Old Trunks needs to look through the old census and see if she can find how old those cabins were. There is some evidence Noper even had a place for people to park their travel trailers. <br />
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Putting on my walking shoes looking for answers.<br />
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ejELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-55250574774160396852013-04-12T09:59:00.002-05:002013-04-12T09:59:22.714-05:00WHAT IS THE RATIO BETWEEN HOUSES AND OUT HOUSES?<span style="color: black;"><strong> One of the better historians from Main Avenue North, is a person named Wayne. He found Old Trunks and Worn Shoes when plugging in people from his own history manifest. From what he read here and there, his mother, named Alice and my Dad, Stanley, went to school together. Most likely it was at Rosebank because that school was on the side of the ridge those children would attend. Perhaps I should remind readers that Rosebank was built by Gust and Olaf Opseth, my grand uncles, who had a block factory in or around Rosewood, (the community).</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><strong>And the reason Wayne even communicated, (perhaps) was because he was playing on the Ferris Wheel we had in our back yard on Main Avenue and got hurt and when home bleeding. Wayne states they lived at 1020 North Knight which was a block west. Old Trunks doesn't remember the Ferris Wheel there but later, my brother would tie me off in the top bucket and go play on Oakland Park Road and I would scream until someone untied the rope.</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><strong>The Mystery of the Ten Hundred Block continued as he verified what Frank had already told us. We knew that Emmet Mousley had a sign company in the middle of the block. Frank lived there with his family until they moved to the east side and resided on St. Paul Ave.</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><strong>Now Wayne is older, graduating in 1954 verses my graduation year of 1966, so one has to give him a lot of credit for what he remembers. It is almost gospel because of his age. And the man has incredible memory skills.</strong></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><strong>Now I don't have to like that he wrote that in those days, there was no city water or sewer in the area. All the folks who lived north of 10th street had out houses. Household refuse was carried to the slop pile and dumper along the side of the out house. There was no garbage pick up in those days. Spring time was when people either hired someone to haul the refuse to the dump or take it themselves. He went on to write the sign company placed his cans of paint and old neon lights in the alley. </strong></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: black;"><strong>It seemed the best thing to do is write to the city of Thief River Falls and have them review the original plats around the ten hundred block of North Main. And this was the answer.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: black;"><strong><span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";">"The
original plats adjacent to the ten hundred block of North Main are Fairgrounds
Addition to the west (platted in 1913 as part of Pennington County) and
Fairfield Addition to the east (platted in 1903 as part of Red Lake County).
Sanitary sewer was installed in 1947 and 1954 to serve this area. I found a
MnDot highway plan from 1948 when the highway was constructed just south of the
1000 block that shows a 4” cast iron pipe water main as existing at that time,
probably installed with the sewer in 1947. Our records are not very good for
this old of infrastructure. </span><span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";">Mark
Borseth"</span></strong></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";"><span style="color: black;"><strong></strong></span></span> </div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif";"><span style="color: black;"><strong>Wayne was right and probably knew more than the man who answered the email!</strong></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><u></u><u></u></span> </div>
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ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-8961120747297915922013-04-02T10:26:00.002-05:002013-04-02T10:26:29.631-05:00Down there on Main AvenueIt isn't that I haven't thought about blogging. Old Trunks has had some remarkable notes from people looking for their relatives or knowing mine. One of the wild rides happened because of the 50th class reunion. <br />
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The class of 1962 met in Thief River Falls last June to visit and make discovery on how folks were doing. Around fifty class mates came along with some spouses and signifcients and with 27 deceased classmates, that only left 100 unaccounted for. <br />
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And one of the people I adore most is a tall drink of water named Frank. Now Frank's dad was a sign maker and had a shop and an apartment on Main Avenue North. In about 1947 or so, we moved to a house half new and half remodeled according to what is remembered. So that made Frank and I neighbors...sort of, most likely, neither Frank nor myself were allowed to cross highway 32 by ourselves. <br />
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We left in about 1949 and Frank and family stayed on until after he started grade school at St. Benhard's. So he knew more and between the two of us, we did an amazing paste together. And what should happen was others would be involved in the process of discovery, as well. And that is what geneology is all about, it is about people sharing and maybe it isn't always gospel, but it is, nevertheless, a truth to someone. <br />
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The plan is to take the information from Frank, Dayton, Wayne, and Bev and believe one can make it color and read like a rainbow.<br />
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See you tomorrow!<br />
eELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-81865512014668693172012-02-10T16:56:00.002-06:002012-02-10T17:01:27.703-06:00SHIRLEY MAE, surely may be an angel.<strong>It has been months since I have written. But now, it is time to savor the the friendship of one that died. Let's reflect on her funeral.</strong>
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<br />Her name was Fanny Cosby; she was one of many who wrote songs of praise at the turn of the century. To many of us, those became hoe down songs at family gatherings when everyone sang while Bob played guitar and/or Dorothy played the piano. Simple times and precious memories. Harmony, the purest kind.
<br />Today, the pianist played all those old songs before the funeral. The words were in the Seven Day Adventist Hymnal just like they must have been in the Mission Covenant hand book. If one didn’t know these songs and were around the Anderson family, you soon would! All the verses. All. Just remembered the music being kicked up a notch.
<br />Shirley was dressed in a maroon top. Her nails were beautifully painted. Last time I saw her in the real, she had long hair, it had been cut and curled and was so cute on her almost impish face. The family who knew her and saw her daily were very pleased at how nice she looked. Her casket was light blue and the cascade of flowers were colorful and mixed. Her friend, Linda remembered Shirley wanting to be buried in a purple shirt and a straw hat with flower. Knowing the inner secret, Tom wore a purple tie. </strong>
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<br /><strong>There were folded notes in the casket with her. I was hopeful someone would share what they said. Many times, the letters are read out loud. What was in the letters where truly personal between Shirley and the writer. Perhaps they were shared the night before at the prayer service. </strong>
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<br /><strong>Dr. Bray read the history, which was the obituary. He talked about the pain he had inflicted on Shirley. He had done her surgeries. He didn’t quite make it to the humor line OR is typical in Northern Minnesota, too stoic or it was an inside joke. They had known each other since 1968. I wanted to turn around and look for his wife, Lois. She had taken Shirley to Fargo a few times and is a grand lady. We would step into the gym near the church later to say hello.
<br />Before the service, the minister, a mid-fifties man with half glasses on the tip of his nose, read a poem Shirley had written in 1981. It was to do with attitude. He could have stopped right there; she had made her point. Maybe there is something to be said about writing one's own good bye. Maybe there is something about having the last word. Oops, that isn't what funerals are. Maybe they should be. </strong>
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<br /><strong>The sermon was based on John 11:1-45. The question to all of us was: Are you in a difficult trial? Do you feel like God is delaying much too long to answer your need? Do you trust God even in the delay? Remember the story of Lazarus. Your situation could not be any worse than his! Trust that God must have a purpose for your trial, and that he will bring glory to himself through it. I wondered if there would be an altar call, there was not.
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<br />After singing In the Garden followed by prayer, the casket, followed by family was dismissed. Keith and the pall bearers walked behind to the hearse the ‘helped’. Most certainly her grand children will not forget ‘helping’. Bridget seemed enveloped in her long, black velvet-like dress standing next to the hearse. Actually, amidst all those people all I remember seeing her sad eyes. What a precious child she is, as are the rest of Shirley’s grand children. Brenda said that she and her dad stayed up very late last night talking. He stated how lucky he was to have his kids and grand kids so close. They truly are a family with strong, loving ties to one another. </strong>
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<br /><strong>Shirley had a lot of friends from her life walk. Everyone I spoke to only had great things to say about her. We watched the supporters mingle around the family, truly, this is a community to be envied. </strong>
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<br />Loving thoughts to all.
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<br />ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-20996525312487428522011-08-11T15:13:00.003-05:002011-08-11T15:21:41.067-05:00ON THE THIRD PITCH, HOME RUN<strong><span style="font-size:180%;"></span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Love the lady with all my heart</span></strong>
<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Love that lady with all my heart</span></strong>
<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Love the next one with all my heart.</span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Blessed.</span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Old Trunks flew high enough when I talked with <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Soozi</span>.</span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Even higher when Mary Ann called.</span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">And up there with the Blue Angels when Barb came to town. </span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">WOW.</span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">How hard her friend laughed when we told her about beating up on a guy who broke into Barb's house and cooked steak. Armed with leather quirts, used to convince horses to move, we beat the crap out of him in the movie theater. And we laughed. </span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">And Barb told me about her grand daughter and how the stud horse and her had a relationship that neither of us never had. We shivered at the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">magnificent</span> friendship.</span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">And then Barb hit the road in her red short bed truck and I left in my yellow short bed truck.</span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Friendship. Phone calls or visits, all time disappears between visits. </span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Never out of step.</span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">Thanks, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Soozi</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">MaryAnn</span>, and Barb.</span></strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="font-size:180%;">e</span></strong>
<br />ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-87085127046479440382011-07-15T10:08:00.003-05:002011-07-15T10:14:16.408-05:00MESSY SOCK DRAWER?<strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Old Trunks thinks people take drugs to think up ideas to allow people to judge themselves. Honest.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Does it really matter what state your sock drawer is in? The article states that the most orderly people have the messiest sock drawers. How about yours? What is the state of the affair of the drawer?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Since I can't really tell the different between dark navy and black anymore nor can MST, we have a system; black to the back whether it be slacks OR socks. It works. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">For now, I think I will go stir up the sock drawer and call myself organized!</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">e</span></strong>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-5953963091087948682011-07-07T07:54:00.005-05:002011-07-07T08:15:37.127-05:00ANITA, WHERE ARE YOU?<strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Old Trunks had a flash this morning. She remembers a person she met in grade school who would be a best friend for a few years. We went to confirmation together. Her name was Anita. She was born on this day. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">She was the kind of a friend that would buy matching red and green plaid pants. Oh my, they were so ugly. Mother was right, once you wore them, everyone knew you had them!</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">She was the kind of friend who would to to S & L store and try on hats until the clerks closed in on us. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">She was the kind of friend that would shave her bony legs, only to see the blood run from her ankle to her knee and I befriended by putting toilet paper on her leg so her mom would not know. Yea, right her mother never missed a thing.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I stayed at her house one night. In the morning, he Dad went to his business with American Breeder's Association as an artificial inseminator. Mother was dropped off at the laundry when she ironed white dress shirts.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">While they were gone, Anita and I decided to bake a cake. But we left the house while it was baking and the cake burned up. We threw the pan in the woods and opened the window. Just how she knew the pan was in the woods, we will never know. Certainly the house smelled charred. I think we decided to take her uncle's car for a driving lesson.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">In about eighth grade, she and I would dress for the day and change clothes once at school. Why did we start that? Mrs. Pound, the Home EC teacher made fun of Anita's clothes, the two of use where going to get past in. My wools were lined, they hung better. But still that nasty old women said Anita needed to wear a girdle. For crying out loud we were just 14 or so. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">She would marry at 15 and we didn't see much of each other after that. I do remember picking her up in Ragdoll and riding around. The sun was i her daughter's eyes while another friend held the baby. Anita wanted the baby turned, friend said, "She has a bone in her neck she can turn her head". </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">She had become a mother. She grew up. She didn't play silly games like we did. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Happy Birthday, Anita.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">e</span></strong>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-16651775978139415482011-06-29T08:25:00.003-05:002011-06-29T08:47:27.792-05:00BEST OF GADGETSWhen I asked my sweet Thomas what he thought the best ten gadgets ever, he had to have more information. The did a broad brush, that is, all electricity was lumped together, all computer like gadgets were lumped together. He wanted to hear combustion engine was in the top ten.<br /><br />It made for a lively discussion that went bump somewhere. Maybe I should say belly up. <br /><br />Because to him the light bulb, (10) was part of electricity. Cell phones and computer (numbers 1 and 5), were lumped together. <br /><br />And what was the deal with the alarm clock, (9) even being on the list?<br /><br />The rotary telephone (7) didn't belong on the list.<br /><br />How could radio (2) be higher than TV (3)? <br /><br />He did agree much of the southwest did come to be populated because of air conditioning (6).<br /><br />There was no comment about the syringe (4) being on the list.<br /><br />He was certain the people who did the list must be very young. But they weren't honest. The program went on to explain there is a trend toward phonograph (8) records returning. The alarm clock was on the list because for the first time, people had a way of getting up and to work on time. <br /><br />As for the radio being more rel event than TV, it stated people listen to the radio in their cars. <br /><br />The smart phones which began just a few years ago with the applications are deserving number one. On any given day, whether it is someone walking past our house or someone sitting on a dock at the lake, phones are in use. People use them in the cafe while eating; as that couple talking to one another OR are they talking to different people.<br /><br />How many man hours are spent at work with people having private conversations, including texting? How many people are checking messages on company computer?<br /><br />I don't mean to sound like I came over on the Mayflower but when I hired on at a durable medical company I asked in the interview if my son could call to check in when he got home from school and the owner did not answer right away. <br /><br />Is it instant life? What is your gadget status?<br /><br />eELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-52523427021080985832011-06-28T08:01:00.003-05:002011-06-28T08:35:24.304-05:00HOW DO YOU WRAP A SANDWICH?Recently an aroma triggered the site of the lunch room in the old Washington Grade School. It was in the basement. The odor was of wax paper and old milk. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bleck</span>. I can see that dingy room with desks as tables in a not so straight row. Years later, we would have our lockers in that room and it still smelled the same. Perhaps it wasn't the lunch room at all, rather, just a basement.<br /><br />I thought about the lunch box and how the sandwich was wrapped in wax paper with the fold at the bottom in the bottom of the lunch box. Insulated bottles may have started the year but one <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">forlorn</span> day, many of us would hear the clinking of the glass liner in our not so cold milk. <br /><br />I didn't thinking packing a sandwich in the bottom was efficient. Why not wrap it in such a way that it could be placed on the top above the apple which, when on top of the sandwich squished the bread? <br /><br />And how long had wax paper been around anyway? Did Grandma's grandma use it? Perhaps. It is said that Thomas Edison invented it but then, doesn't he get credit for everything anyway? <br /><br />I suspect that Grandma's grandma did use it. Most likely over and over. Lunch pails were tin then and just the idea of the lid sealed in the moisture. Now, I imagine if one opened that pail it was a full aroma of yeast on a warm day.<br /><br />Is it wise to reuse any sort of food wrapping? I am thinking about a family down the street when the children were young. Sack lunch. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Reuses</span> the sack and the food bags over and over. With all the information out there on food born illnesses, it is simply amazing these kids never got sick. Maybe our bags were too clean.<br /><br />Making lunches day after day is a pain. We had a plan. Pack a week's worth of lunches at a time and freeze them. Just grab your sack out of the freezer in the morning add fruit and go. Doesn't that sound like a great plan? Have the kids help! Meat and cheese on the sandwich, chips, and a cookie; bag it up. Except one of the children grabbed a bag AFTER school as well as FOR school.<br /><br />When Grandpa was working he most certainly would have brought lunch. What I remember was quart jars with coffee. OR nectar. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Root beer</span> nectar. How odd for us, who have provisions to heat coffee or make it in less than five minutes OR to put it in a insulated container and keep it warm for hours to know people actually drank air temperature coffee. <br /><br />Yet I do know someone who drinks air temperature soda. After all, if one is fishing on a hot day, that open soda is not going to stay cold very long. So there is a point. After all, the purpose is to hydrate. Well, then, water, perhaps.<br /><br />I tried the room temperature soda for one summer and went back to a small cooler with an ice pack. My soda at home is in the fridge. I dare say I haven't bought much ice. A guest once asked if he could have ice and a glass. There was no ice. I since learned that many out there still use ice and buy a small bag for company. The last over night guests never used it. Most likely it is still in the big freezer in the basement. <br /><br />What about an ice maker, you say? Well, the old fridge had one. Fargo's water does not make good clear ice cubes. I spent more time cleaning out the tray and lines than using it so the new fridge is simply a box with no frills.<br /><br />So how do we wrap a sandwich? We have basket lunch on the way to the lake each week. A room temperature soda, a cold soda, and a container of milk go to the side. Fruit goes on the bottom followed by a cookie. The sandwiches are in zipper bags. One is marked, "T" because "T" likes more mayonnaise. MORE? Slathered is more like it. All of this is covered with a railroad <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">hank</span>, which goes on Tom's knee. We do not reuse bags for food. <br /><br />It does not smell like wax paper<br />It does not smell like old milk<br />And the truck does not smell like Washington Grade School lunchroom.<br /><br />eELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-8087815069210977052011-06-19T06:00:00.003-05:002011-06-19T06:00:00.786-05:00FATHER KNEW BEST<strong><span style="font-size:130%;">You may not have favored a parent; I did. It was Daddy.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">A friend recently asked why people hadn't put their dad's picture on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Face book</span> like they did their mother's photograph. I adore this lady and she deserves to know it was hard to do.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">How do you post a picture of someone when you are flooded with memories to the point of tears? How can you not post one of him making Diamond sit on the lawn mower? How about him on the back of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Suntan</span> when he rode in the Dairy Day Parade? How about him scratching the back of the Hereford's? How well could you see him in the picture of him and I on Christmas Day in the cutter? </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Last Sunday when we came home from the lake, I took the time to look at the pictures of Daddy from when he was just standing to the summer of 1981 when we celebrated, what would be his last birthday--the was 67 and Rachel baked and decorated his cake. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Every picture shares a tie. Something sparked at each picture and a learned lesson. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Stan wasn't a handsome man. He didn't have a sexy look about him. He was short and in his work clothes with his <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">hanky</span> sticking out of his back pocket, he looked like any other working man in our town. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Yet, he was handsome to me. He was kind and good to me. We had a good relationship. I was lucky, his <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">alcoholism</span> didn't get in the way. I was able to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">separate</span> the disease from the person. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Perhaps I find good fortune in the good, the bad, and the ugly. What amazes me is what I remember is the good. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">On this Father's Day, I honor him. I am listening for his laughter and his voice. Let's hope you can do the same.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">e</span></strong>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-1640814636104504952011-06-11T06:00:00.002-05:002011-06-11T06:00:05.772-05:00SO BIG<strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Recently I watched a 1932 film called <u>So Big</u> starring Barbara Stanwyck. I had only known the film by the same name made in 1953 starring Jane Wyman. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">We know books, in this case, Edna Ferber's, called <u>So Big</u> was made into movies. including a silent version in the mid twenties. But only twenty years between the last two? </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">My question is: How many movies are repeat performances? Better yet, how many repeat performances in life.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">e</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-64999936035519197882011-06-10T06:00:00.003-05:002011-06-10T06:00:15.273-05:00CUSTOMER SERIVCEThe article stated that 67 percent of 1000 people polled had customer service issues. <br /><br />Although I am of the age to have grown up watching customer service happen to my parents, children were not recognized as customers. It wasn't they were rude, we just weren't recognized even if our 10 cent purchase was money spent.<br /><br />After all, if Mrs. Anderson could go to Penney's and spend a nickel on a spool of thread and be treated with please and thank you, why couldn't a group of happy girls get that sort of treatment at the Fountain Cafe for Cokes all around? Hey if Evonne was along, there was even a bill for French Fries--bring the mustard. Yvonne? <br /><br />And no matter what we are told, we are still responsible for every nit nit we do. And small towns don't forget or don't let you whereas, one should not be held liable for decades. Regardless if it is good or bad. <br /><br />Manners, whether I meant them or not, were drilled into me. DRILLED. You WILL say please and thank you. And so I did. And decades later, at my mother's funeral, a lady who worked at the Fountain came up to me and said, "Oh, Elodee, I am so sorry your mother has passed". She went on to say she remembered me from the Fountain and I was always nice to her.<br /><br />And the funny thing about it is, she glared at us. She appeared to glare at us. Who knows what was going through her mind. But we were not privileged to full citizenship. And, as a teen, I didn't give any thought to what she may be going through. I don't think I wondered anything except glaring, or appear to be glaring was certainly not part of being a waitress. <br /><br />It was many years before the DRILLED came back to me in the form of a German Baptist owner. Customer Service was top billing and all of his staff would be loving that person regardless. It wasn't hard, the people where worth it. My private life was not at work. I was not paid to bring it to work. <br /><br />The biggest complaint in the survey I read was about tech support. I am inclined to believe we can blame a runny BM on them. It is all their fault. It is all the computer's fault. And, it may be but where is the follow up?<br /><br />I tend to chew on things awhile before I spit it out. But when I went to have a physical and someone had keyed in the information on a new computer system saying my dad died because of heart surgery, it really pissed me off. He died because they gave him blood with the AIDS virus in it. The nurse didn't have a pen so she wrote numbers in a magic marker. The doctor couldn't access the computer to write RX. There was no follow up to squelch damage control. It was all the fault of the computer, right? WRONG!<br /><br />But customer service is coming back! Employees are saying please and thank you. Why? Why is it that after shopping for greater than 10 years at a up scale department store in FM area I have only once been asked if they could help me? Bucks. Someone had caught on that servicing your customers is not a novel idea, it is what service is all about. <br /><br />I am enlightened. I am aglow. A man who is retired fixes rods. He is customer oriented. FINALLY. <br /><br />eELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-11931771713277978282011-06-09T11:19:00.003-05:002011-06-09T11:33:28.167-05:00I CAN NAIL THAT IN IN THREE BLOWS<strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Sounds like a huff and puff, doesn't it? Well, with a 20 pound hammer, my brother did do it. He was strong and when focused drove a nail and laid wood flooring faster than anyone. When focused. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Old Trunks comes from a long line of nail bangers. Grandpa Benhard built barns all around a sixty mile radius from Rosewood. He used to tell me, "I built that one--and that one---" Perhaps that is the foundation for me wanting to build a house that looked like a barn. Perhaps that is why I am sad when I see a barn caved in.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">A story in the Rosewood News talks about how he and his buddy moved a school across country. They used logs. Roll, move logs, Roll, move logs. Talk about physical! More like brute strength, don't you think?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">His son, Stanley was also a carpenter. Later, he would not swing the hammer, rather have the right to draw the plans, hire the sub contractors, and watch his crew make the dream a reality. I can still go to my home town and whisper, "Daddy built that". Unlike Grandpa's barns, most of Daddy's work still stands.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Why am I writing about this today? In a storm about 10 days ago, a tree fell on the roof of a house just two houses to the west. Today, the workers are installing new rafters. But the crew doesn't swing the hammer anymore, so there isn't the bang, bang, bang rather a caw-thunk as the electric equipment drives in the nail. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Let's hope all of them know how to handle the electric nail gun. Someone I knew didn't. While kneeling, the gun went off in the side of his knee and caught the meat of the long leg bone. They took him to the hospital in the back of a pick up because his leg 'nailed' into position. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Whether your day is caw-thunk or bang, bang, bang, hope you accomplish your mission.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">e</span></strong>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-37705907741505671802011-06-08T10:28:00.003-05:002011-06-08T10:47:40.622-05:00GITTIN' ON THE BAND WAGON<strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Projects get started, often times laid aside because of weather, time, or 'other'. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Grandpa used to say, "Gittin' on da band vagon". I supposed it meant, being inspired to do or help. He used it in conjunction with planting a garden. "Come on Ma, get on da vagon". Help. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Old Trunks wonders if jumping on the band wagon is more like I wanna do it too!?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">So instead of 'gittin' like Grandpa, let's say JUMP! </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">We have a 9' chain sawed bear in front of our garage. His name is Howard, because that means protector. Howard is one of three bears carved out of a white pine. We have had him awhile, he came home on the bunk trailer for the Warrior and was stood up with an engine puller. He is rough cut and had no finish on him. He came with a fish, which he held high over his head. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Well, the Johnson's would rather fish in the summer than do maintenance at home so for the few days we are here, we work on what needs to be done. But this spring, I asked Tom to take the pike off the bear so I could repaint him. Perhaps I would finish the project before fishing season. Perhaps.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">It has been a cold spring, and the pike lay in wait on a cardboard covered table in the garage. The little boat had been towed to the lake and there was plenty of room. With the Honda out of the garage during the day, I could spray in that direction without getting it on the sunshine truck.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">And I waited until a reasonable day and started to spray. Nothing. Pike too dry. Paint didn't have any gloss to it as it all soaked in. We went to Menard's for items and since they sell a brand of paint that I think sticks to anything, I picked up a quart for the pike. Not a water wolf color but after all, someone else thought it was a muskie so a little fish fantasy might do!</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">The weather turned nice and I did a coat of the olive front and back. Then did the white, and detailed the body fanning another color of green and yellow. All I had left was the red in the gills and the iris. Tom did find the red paint I had purchased in an ice cream bucket, so one side got done.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">And then, the most interesting thing happened. Tom jumped on the band wagon. It was too hot to mow but guess it wasn't too hot to stain Howard. We are two eyes and a gill plate from finishing the project! </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Jump! You might find it is fabulous. And remember to praise the jumper.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">e</span></strong>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-81264375737531366532011-06-04T06:00:00.003-05:002011-06-04T06:00:02.424-05:00HOME LIKE<strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Another spin off from 6/2 mentioned crepe flowers for the office. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Think about this: Isn't making acquaintances based on something mutual? I would, for example, blend with someone who fished. Or someone that liked to take pictures. Because I might meet them as I did those things. If one is in a quilt shop, the mutual discussion is quilting. Are you with me?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">One of the things that has always bothered me about professional offices is there professional decor. Stiff. Not at home. Nothing to attach to. And maybe it is there for a reason. Yet, I have come to believe we HIRE these folks and I think our radar is looking for a hook up before we are eye to eye with the 'hired man'. Or to some, a woman.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">It doesn't have to please me over all, it just has to identify. Certainly I am not the only one that feels this way. How about you?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">When Tom bought the optical shop I wanted to warm it up. I wanted others to come in to the shop and identify with some thing. Didn't have to be huge, they didn't even have to mention it but I wanted a connection for them. Homey. Is that a word?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">This is lake country. This is fishing country. This is snow country. Tom said nothing. He just put the tackle box, the old lures, the nets, along with a straw hat and old rods and reels. He hung the old window with only one pane left from the ceiling. He put the berry swags on it and mounted seasonal pictures in the waiting room. He clustered bird houses together and put sunglasses on Nard, the chain saw bear. In the winter, he would wrap a wool scarf around his neck and stand him by the evergreen. The idea was to be seasonal. We actually do have more than three days of summer, tough sledding, and snow. Really. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">At first nothing. I told him to wait. People would not say anything because the idea of home-like in a business was 'new' to them. We made a loon book so they could look at something else while waiting for their glasses fitting. And when they came back, most certainly, they made mention of something. For one lady, it was try to buy the cast iron fish. For many it was "where did you get that"? But for most, it was, "I fished when I was younger, my husband and I had a cabin", Men say they had decoys like that for hunting. Some come back for an adjustment to say, "Oh, you have something new". They are looking for more common identifiers. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">In the fall, he can say 'we' took that pictures at Pickerel Lake. We couldn't believe there were two trees arched over making a frame for that old barn. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Now? Frogs. Lots and lots of frogs. One bought and gold leafed in green to make him shine and a crown added. It is probably the most time spent to get him to have a personality. Now he is touched. People like to touch. They feel with their soul. If, by sight they can not determine if something is real or silk, they touch. Comfort. Iris will be added the first of the week because that is when they bloom around here. It is a touch thing. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Our mission is accomplished. It is all about being comfortable in ones surroundings, isn't it?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Your mission is go to a professional office and look about. Do you identify? Is in cozy so you feel you may touch? And then, why not.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-808654630087341242011-06-03T06:00:00.003-05:002011-06-03T06:00:21.485-05:00GRANDMA MAE AND THE TISSUE PAPER<strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Grandma's Mae's gifts were always wrapped in white tissue paper and tied with red, grained paper ribbon which was curled on the end of the bow. Sometimes there were stickers. The only boxed gift I ever received was when she crocheted little clothes for Bobby and Betty. Yes, I still have the clothes and Betty. Bobby wandered off.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I am not saying there is anything wrong with tissue wrapping. On the contrary, it is a wonderful memory and tissue paper and Grandma Mae will always be united. And other than a watch my Dad wrapped in butcher style for me for Christmas one year, I don't really remember the outside of the gift. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">To clarify the watch wrapping, I was about six. Daddy put the box in the corner of the paper, and wrapped and rolled. I told him it wasn't wrapped very well, and he said, "It isn't how it is wrapped that counts, it is what is inside". Well, what does a six year old know anyway. :)</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Although I loved him dearly, I can not agree. Something has to be said about the mystery of what is inside of the box by the outside. Besides, I dearly like to wrap and always have. I like the package to be a treat in itself. I like to use boxes. I like to use tissue to wrap a wear able garment. And there is somewhat of a game because one of the Christmas guests, takes all the tissue from the opened gifts, so you see, it is recycled. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I do not wrap in tissue for one reason: You can't crease the corners. I like the edges of the boxed item to be, as Tom says, "So crisp I could cut my finger". It is a thing with me. Saving the paper for scrap book pages is also recycling! </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I am thinking about MST. On an occasion where a gift is presented, he know he will have to have his pocket knife to break the seal of tape on the box. But I am going to fool him! I am going to start using a glue gun! Why? Because the flour, water, and salt paste the other grandmother used never worked. :)</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Tissue. Nice and won't cut your fingers!</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">e</span></strong>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-47292673146949075592011-06-02T08:35:00.002-05:002011-06-02T08:56:56.393-05:00CREPE PAPER<strong><span style="font-size:130%;">It is an old project soon to come back to life. For years, I could not keep two things straight:</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">1 Crepe paper verses tissue paper</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">2. Lettuce verses cabbage</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Don't ask and I won't have to tell.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Then, when Bud was in kindergarten, he wanted to give his teacher a flower--his favorite--a dandelion. And I learned about crepe paper, the kind that you can flounce, whereas tissue paper was just a rich man's way of wrapping a shirt to be put in a box and then wrapped even if Grandma Mae always wrapped the outside of the gift with white tissue paper. Always and never in a box.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">So it came to be you could buy crepe paper at the dime store and I found bright yellow. I suppose it was about 20" wide and who know how long. I just know that I cut slits to make it look like dandelions and made a HUGE dandelion for him to present to her. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I had not thought about crepe paper until the other day. A friend's mother has dementia and when she sees the dandelions in the grass at the nursing home, she is happy. Could I still make them? Couldn't be that hard, could it? Aren't old buried in our minds crafts nothing more than letting the spirit flow? </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">When I looked on line, the first hit was for a large chain store. First item listed? Crepe dress. Second: Crepe pan. Looking down the line of hits, I did find a pure crepe site. Real crepe. Also real tissue paper. Yes, I did know the difference.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">In a few days, when the package arrives, I will make dandelions and send to my friend to bring to her mother. After all, nursing home rooms need some bright yellow, bright pink, and bright red, don't you think? Doesn't every where? </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">And since I was ordering anyway, why not pick up some gold and wine for fall at the office? After all, isn't it all about homey, even if it is a business? But that is another subject for another day.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">And to you, Soozi, Crepe Suzette!</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">e</span></strong>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-25035675425947970702011-05-24T09:05:00.003-05:002011-05-24T09:20:31.906-05:00THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT LILACS<strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Flowers seem to captivate us. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">For Grandpa Ranum, it was roses. He liked getting them as gifts and he had a way about him that was nurturing. Mother liked marigolds around the foundation of the house, (although Daddy always said evergreens were the best for foundation planting). Mother didn't care, she bought flats of marigolds and fed them lots of fertilizer and made them into bushes with huge blossoms. Grandma Mae had her garden of glads and Grandma Ranum had her stand of Hollyhocks. Mother's birth mother, Clara, had climbing roses on a trellis, as did Atropa in Kansas. And Ella, the children's other grandmother had petunia's lining her walk from the curb to her front step.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Perhaps for me, the best of all, are lilacs. It is a spot of heaven. On a road trip, we passed a farm with lilac bushes on two sides. They had not bloomed yet, just loaded with buds ready to pop. A short cut to our house goes by a stand of them. From the sun room, I can see they have now bloomed from two days ago.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I have pictures of my daughter holding lilacs. The bushes at the house in KS where under her window and the scent drifted in. The bushes had been a garden gift from friends. We had dug them up in their yard and moved them. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Perhaps I need to think more about daisies, which swing and sway in the wind and when the seeds are cast far from home, they seem to take root, grow, and with their yellow centers, capture the sun and dance in the wind.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Perhaps dancing in the wind and casting seed here and there is my wannabee spirit. Perhaps it is my spirit.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">For now, a touch of heaven in the blooming of the lilacs.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Flower. Bloom where you are planted. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">e</span></strong>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-68608897940527852932011-05-17T14:49:00.004-05:002011-05-17T14:59:55.237-05:00PAINTING OLD WOOD<span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Old Trunks looked at old photographs with weathered houses. She wonders why the houses weren't painted (better). Have you ever painted weathered board? </strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>The project this week is to paint the pike which Howard the bear, (who stands in front of the garage) holds above his head. Two cans of spray later, it just now starting to show. All the paint is soaking into the thirsty pores of the wood. Will there ever be a sheen? </strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>Isn't that the same with the old weathered houses in the pictures? Did they not go so long without being treated that the first order of business was to 'wet' the wood? Is this why primer was invented? </strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>I wonder what paint cost per gallon then. It was all oil base and certainly had lead in it. No matter the cost, if that amount was needed for groceries or shoes, it is understandable houses stood silently and did not question when they were going to be made Sunday best.</strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><strong>e</strong></span>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-40131691807431211742011-05-14T16:35:00.000-05:002011-05-14T16:35:17.256-05:00IT'S A DUCK!!!<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06-799JSpo1yjd87xLN7Vy7k_D7NTSZ22Zx9EXLwKxnmvOUYISKapWiD7AeX0GMO_2HxZMuyolsE81xQHLWyInL3Av2dq_8oJhhN475p3yI0TgQ_PrPgO_nbhBSmJOwt1yGrj7VK4M3u6/s1600/029.JPG"><strong><img border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06-799JSpo1yjd87xLN7Vy7k_D7NTSZ22Zx9EXLwKxnmvOUYISKapWiD7AeX0GMO_2HxZMuyolsE81xQHLWyInL3Av2dq_8oJhhN475p3yI0TgQ_PrPgO_nbhBSmJOwt1yGrj7VK4M3u6/s400/029.JPG" /></strong></a><strong> </strong></div><br /><strong>It is walleye opener in Minnesota. Many were on the point at one past midnight hoping for a creel filled with good eating. Today, boats have been zooming by going from one place to another. Are the fish that scattered?<br /><br />We are not fishing. We are waiting until next weekend which is bass opener. Although we considered going out, the weather has just adjusted to sun and 61. And now, MST is on yet another task, this one, outdoors with neighbor Paul as his helper as he removes the front of the deck to get set to have the trailer straightened this week. <br /><br />Yesterday's project was to hang new blinds. I can't praise the company enough. We have one minor mistake which can be corrected by just telling them about it. As we worked on hanging the blinds in the bedroom, we saw two pair of wood ducks, one male in full color and a younger couple where the male was just beginning to get its unique feather color pattern.<br /><br />The <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">supreme</span> joy of the inside project was spotting this couple in the swamp behind us through the screen and through the window. We know them as skittish water fowl and wondered if we could get the screen off and the window open without spooking them. We did and with elbows braced on a stack of pillows hoped for an opening in the brush. And this is the result. <br /><br />The first time I saw a wood duck decoy, painted by a man who took it up as a hobby after he became wheel chair bound, I was certain he was making up his own feather color pattern. Alas, the return to Minnesota has taught me there is such a thing as wood ducks and they really are marked in this magically way. Yet with all that color, they are lost in the natural colors of their surroundings. <br /><br /><br /><br /></strong><div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-71577445992466591232011-05-09T10:40:00.003-05:002011-05-09T11:03:33.942-05:00GARDENING?Old Trunks is thinking about gardening today. Oh, no! Not for me or us rather about my grand parents. And for everyone out there in the cloud, I do admire you for your efforts and the nurturing you do to grow product for your own table. I don't have the gardening gene.<br /><br />My grandparents always had a garden I never remember them not having one. The first one I remember was when they lived with us when mother was in the San with TB. The garden was right outside the back door along the fence between our property and Botham's crap apple orchard. It was sacred ground. NO ONE stepped on that area. NO ONE. The next summer it was moved to the back of the lot to host a larger garden and water was pumped from the river to water it. Previously it was close to the house and a hose was used.<br /><br />What I remember most about that garden was that Grandpa grew watermelons. He saved the seeds. For some reason, he put the seeds in the oats box where Babe the Welsh pony took her grain. I could never understand how he could be so mad at Babe for eating something he placed there, but he was!<br /><br />Now the garden was always masterfully groomed. It seemed to happen magically. I never saw them pull a hoe or pick a weed. Of course, it was tended daily and that is why it always looked like it was a model garden.<br /><br />Although to a five year old, it seemed as if they stated they wanted a garden in a certain place and it happened. I didn't know about how they had to make the soil ready and all the raking and breaking up of clumps that had to happen. I did learn later that once all of that hard work was accomplished, Grandma would take two stakes and a string and mark off rows with space in between to walk and hoe. Between these stakes, she would form a mound and poke her finger in to make an indent in which to put the seed. Then, back breaking walk down the rows and drop one seed in each hole. Later she would retrace her steps and gently bury the seed. When she was completely finished, she would sit at the kitchen table and separate the seeds because as she planted, she just put them in the pocket of her apron. She did NOT put them back in the package, as the package was over the stake at the row's end so one would know what was planted there, although I suspect she had a system of how things were planted.<br /><br />Perhaps her system had something to do with the way things matured OR how it looked. The corn, being the tallest crop was always along a fence line or on the out side edge of the garden. And because part of having company over on a Sunday afternoon for lunch meant looking at the garden, one had to have it as perfect as it could get.<br /><br />Looking at the garden and the flowers was always a big thing. It generally happened after an afternoon lunch of cookies/cake and coffee. Once the garden was viewed, people generally left. <br /><br />I wonder how many times a day the garden was visited. I heard a song when I was young called, "In the Garden". One of the lines was, "I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses". I was certain it was about Grandpa and Grandma. Alas, it was not.<br /><br />eELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-45364680319533231492011-05-03T06:00:00.000-05:002011-05-03T06:00:06.427-05:00KILL-DEE said the KILL DEER<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE63i3ZZTEQQ1ebHtZu-5-1kwEZWknbdg3vbNn6146CZDsqBuuA-zLlwbkrCiUJLpHZNECxq6NKGLUGsY_Dh9Bnkn-3vBwbVzGgl0Ji7K5iOKKAiNHlOepX4L_ncB30NlxeMj13YxjhoxT/s1600/Killdeer610.jpg"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 226px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602230237919709314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE63i3ZZTEQQ1ebHtZu-5-1kwEZWknbdg3vbNn6146CZDsqBuuA-zLlwbkrCiUJLpHZNECxq6NKGLUGsY_Dh9Bnkn-3vBwbVzGgl0Ji7K5iOKKAiNHlOepX4L_ncB30NlxeMj13YxjhoxT/s400/Killdeer610.jpg" /></span></strong></a><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"> A killdeer is a little shore bird who runs about on skinny legs and lays its eggs in the pebbles. It is a member of the plover family. Although it is considered a shore bird, they don't always nest in wet places. They especially like plowed fields for those worms, grubs, and bugs of various kinds.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Perhaps the most interesting thing to watch is when the incubating bird is flushed from the nest, the bird <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">appears </span>to have a broken wing(s) as if it can not fly. It also rolls and screeches to take the attention away from their ground next. It will almost act breathless. Meanwhile, the other partner flies and swoops and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">continues</span> to protest until the intruder leaves.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">It is said a law was past in 1918 protecting the Killdeer from being hunted for sport. The are not edible. They are, however, useful by destroying great quantities of noxious insects which includes mosquitos!</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">And just <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">in case</span> you don't know the difference between a loon and a kill deer, the loon has red eyes and the killdeer has orange. :) I am a wanna be birder. Before the move back to the north and attending the lake country, I had only heard a loon and had never seen a Killdeer. I have much to learn. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">e</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><br /><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong></div>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-79132630662836200742011-05-02T15:39:00.004-05:002011-05-02T16:13:46.166-05:00TOUPEE?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYeM_4Hu1U_9dJnn4MKeufikGZBKqqCUWeAko-Fmf8EgQJwtUf1oSoryH9FvQ1AeaoxjGA5BXWBXTkXzFjr2ri_gCyrHlhdaiahBNMIaKqGQMaBbd4qpHrZfU0DewQY_pweTniqavPxCon/s1600/carpet.jpg"><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602222107114260338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYeM_4Hu1U_9dJnn4MKeufikGZBKqqCUWeAko-Fmf8EgQJwtUf1oSoryH9FvQ1AeaoxjGA5BXWBXTkXzFjr2ri_gCyrHlhdaiahBNMIaKqGQMaBbd4qpHrZfU0DewQY_pweTniqavPxCon/s400/carpet.jpg" /></span></strong></a><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span></strong><br /><div></div><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">The mister and I come to an agreement but not without compromise. I think drama and pattern. He thinks practical and light walls. And so when it came to buying a toupee for the floor at the lake it would be an adventure. I think you will have to agree we can drag in buckets of sand and loose it in the loops! We could almost hide a killdeer in it! </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">We did find one piece but only big enough for one room and since we live in a mini place the choice, whatever it would become, had to be the same, (my rule). We had looked at another blend which would work except, it was too formal for a place where table clothes and china are not used. We don't even use cloth napkins, (although it took several years to 'break' me of it). </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">We went from one carpet place to another, too expensive, not enough threads per square inch. Yada yada. We went to a dealer in Dilworth, which is a blink beyond Moorhead. As we drove out, we saw another dealer, the same name as in West Fargo, (which is a flicker away from Fargo to the west). We found the toupee but did not buy it because we didn't have the measurements. I thought we had written them down. We hoped, because the roll was big, there would be enough. There was 60' on the roll.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">From the carpet store, we went directly to the pain(t) store. Although I thought the paint was too light, we did find something we could agree on. The painting would happen over the weekend. We would, for the most part, tease the pain(t) unto the walls all weekend. And we did. And we are proud.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">This morning, I called MST and asked him for the style or color of the carpet because I wanted to get something started on on having it cut in two pieces, tightly wrapped, and ready to ride in the boat. I had the business card and the measurements.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">"What was the name of that carpet"?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">"It is on the back of his business card"</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">"Is isn't, hon, I think you wrote it down in your book".</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">"No, not here", he said.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I hoped that we made some sort of a splash so the clerk would remember us. Now, what is the first thing you do when you have a question? Write an email of course, and follow it up with a phone call.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">The email had all the information in document form. I could not send a picture. The salesperson came on the floor at 1P, I called and talked with him. He did remember. He remembered when we talked about two pieces and carrying it in the boat. All I had to do was put down some payment and they would cut it and have it wrapped for pick up.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I still don't know the style name or color, but as long as he does, I think we are home free! Well, not free but we have our toupee and the floor will be happy! There was forty feet on the roll when I called. Someone with a 14' idea will have plenty!</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">What is a Killdeer?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Tomorrow.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">e</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5525339068632689140.post-29004622648239400012011-04-27T08:30:00.003-05:002011-04-27T08:40:33.053-05:00TOO LATE FOR ME!<strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Today's news states that sleeping on your back is best for your spine and neck. It also is the best way to ward off wrinkles and maintain perky breasts.</span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Well, ain't perky and have lots of wrinkles. Obviously, I do not sleep on my back. I am a side sleeper but wake up on my stomach.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">The article goes on to say--which we already knew--that back sleepers snore. Side sleepers snore less, and stomach sleepers do not snore. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">It is said that stomach sleepers cause the greatest harm to their necks and joints because nothing is aligned. I think about all the nights I put my babies on their stomachs to sleep and now it is said not to do that. Poor R, B, R! </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">MST is a back sleeper. I can tell when he comes home from work how much noise he is going to make when he sleeps. And he tells me to wake him and tell him to move. The funny thing about that is that when I do tell him, he states he wasn't asleep. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">Now the thing is to look about and see who is wrinkled and not perky. I will KNOW how they sleep! Marjorie Main who starred in Ma and Pa Kettle movies, was for certain a stomach sleeper, she was NOT perky and she was wrinkled.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">And that, dear ones, is the news from Fargotown.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I wish you well.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">e</span></strong>ELODEE JOHNSONhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04247015542727532557noreply@blogger.com0