Thanks to an invitation by Elmer Watermeier, Syracuse, for the Lincoln Production Credit Association, we attended the annual banquet the other night at the Elks.
Wayne Whitney of Backyard Farmer and well known in horticulture circles in Nebraska City, was the last on the rather long program.
Mr. Whitney is a pro at entertainment and when he announced that he would show 100 or so slides, he had the over 200 people in the audience groaning. The truth is, once he started his show, we didn't see anyone leave the room.
Mrs. Richard Kimmel paints outhouses, Mr. Whitney films them and tells a story about sales, construction and maintenance of privies that'll keep you rockin'.
The Optimist club in a project in cooperation with the fire and rescue crews in Nebraska City will distribute special "invalid" stickers in the community.
Purpose of the window stickers is to help fire and rescue crews to quickly identify bed patients in case of an emergency in a home.
The stickers were attached to the windows at Nebraska City Manor and distributed to Duff Home. Miss Rhoda Haak said they will be attached to the windows soon, including those in the new addition.
The project was started by the Rev. John Green, past president of the Optimist club.
Mrs. Judy Huebner says the PTA would like to help with the project and of course, the help was accepted.
The PTA, by the way, has "helping hand" signs distributed across town. The designated homes are places children may go for help.
"Heya . . . Beaumont," said the woman in white.
"Whatcha say Belgian woman?"
"I've got good news today."
"If we can print it, let's have it."
"I'm a grandmother — again!"
The conversation took place in a hallway at Nebraska City Manor where Mrs. Cecil (Simone) Anderson is employed and where No. 2 daughter, Clarissa, works part-time.
Mrs. Anderson worked as the News-Press janitor while studying to be a licensed practical nurse. When it came to scooping the snow, we found that she "influenced" son, Paul, and that winter he got a real work out.
The new grandson is the son of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Anderson, Craig.
The Belgian woman? Mrs. Anderson came to this country as a bride from her native Belgium. She's devoted much of her energies to more education and as she said the other day, "I passed the state boards." (for LPN's).
Congratulations!
The Code on the North 40.
Remember me telling you about the farm wives who live in the houses on both sides of us? And remember me telling you about the fines for trespassing?
Well, I collected again the other day. In fact, we have such a law abiding community, that when the ladies "trespass" they just automatically stop in later to pay up.
The other day was payday — hot cinnamon rolls.
Now folks you have to remember that the farm people don't necessarily look at the clock and put the food on the table. The time to eat is when you are hungry and more than three times a day is not unusual.
So, when Mrs. Fred Baker stepped into our kitchen with the pan of hot rolls covered with nuts, I gracefully picked up one and poured a cup of coffee.
"You can't eat that now," queenie said. "I was just starting to set the table."
"Now mother," I assured her, "first of all it would be very impolite for me to sit here and Mrs. Baker to sit there and both of us just look at that pan of rolls. And second, I'm hungry and a little snack never hurt anyone."
I have to level with you folks. I only ate two, but then I did take an itsby-bitsy piece from a third, just for a taste teaser.
Mrs. Ralph Jay wonders if it's true . . . that I REALLY have sour cream chocolate cake and oatmeal for breakfast.
KAFF! HARUMMPF! SNORT! Doesn't everyone?
Actually I can blame my dad for getting me started on a rich breakfast.
When we were kids at home I was always abused. There were four boys in that house and I always got blamed for everything. Olaer brother LeRoy was Mom's favorite and they all passed over me.
That meant I had to start the fire in the winter mornings, milk ole' Bessie and Tippy (and get the blasted cows out of the barn before they raised their tails) and open the chicken house door and get out of the way of the roosters who took off like jet fighters the moment the door was opened.
(You may not believe all this, but if you've read this far, you're hooked).
Well, anyway, we didn't separate the milk. Instead, we put it in large bowls and you know what happens then the top is a layer of pure cream.
Meanwhile back in the kitchen, my dad was the first to the breakfast table followed by the five brothers and sisters (I was still outside doing the chores). Dad got the nulk first and skimmed off the cream for his oatmeal, then LeRoy, then Willie, then, Dennie, and so on.
Guess what was on the breakfast table when I stepped into the kitchen with the smelly shoes from the barnyard -- you've got it, skimmed milk in a bowl.
It took a lot of years to convince queenie how I was mistreated as a kid at home, but whatever selling job I gave her almost 24 years ago holds up today for an "occasional" cake, say one a week?
What about my children? That's the sad part they enjoy it, too.