The waitress knows how I like my eggs
Published 7:21 am Wednesday, June 7, 2017
Echoes From the Loafers’ Club Meeting
I like eating breakfast here. The waitress knows just how I like my eggs.
How do you like your eggs?
I don’t know, but the waitress knows.
Driving by the Bruces
I have two wonderful neighbors — both named Bruce — who live across the road from each other. Whenever I pass their driveways, thoughts occur to me, such as: A friend called and said that she had been to the wake of a mutual acquaintance. She said that while paying her last respects at the casket, she noticed how good the deceased looked. “I’ve never seen her look so good. She looked better than I do. Of course, I’ve had a cold.”
The café chronicles
I drove into a small town. The grocery store was on the highway at the edge of town and it had gas pumps.
The cafe served beef commercial and homemade pie.
I sat with a group of fellows wearing corrective caps to aid their clothing. The gimme caps pulled their outfits together. They were farmers who ate so fast, that they had no idea that ice cream melts.
I felt right at home.
Foolish and foodie
I read a list of the most hated foods years ago. I don’t remember much about the list other than liver was the most hated and lima beans were the second most detested.
Nancy Toensing, a chaplain at Mayo Clinic Health System in Rochester, told me that she had once eaten a bowl of soup that had some of those tiny marshmallows in it.
I always figured that those tiny marshmallows were created for those people who had an appetite for a marshmallow, but weren’t hungry enough to eat an entire regulation-sized marshmallow.
Kathy Bolin of Rochester wrote, “My uncle Floyd often stopped out at our farm around lunchtime. It was always lunchtime. He would put chocolate cake between two slices of mom’s famous wheat bread so that the cake wouldn’t be so sweet.”
Those thrilling days of yesteryear
Have you ever walked into a room and forgotten why you were there? Of course, you have. Everyone has. That was the nice thing about having an outhouse. That never happened when I walked into an outhouse.
In the neighborhood
The neighbor’s faucet in his kitchen sink wouldn’t stop dropping. He tried ignoring it, but it didn’t help. He went to the hardware store to get advice and a repair kit. As he stepped into the store, a small child, being chased by another, tried to run between his legs. This caused him to stumble, knocking over a display of screwdrivers. Screwdrivers went everywhere. He stepped on one and nearly joined it on the floor. He moved as if it were his first time on ice skates before he was able to reach out and grab the service desk, tipping over a great array of keys and a few boxes of red licorice in the process. Once the sound of falling objects had subsided, he regained his balance and tried to regain his composure. He told the store clerk, “My kitchen sink doesn’t work right.”
The clerk replied, “I’d be surprised if it did.”
The morning chorus woke me early and summoned me from my bed. Male birds were yelling at other male birds, “Get off my dawn!”
Catbirds gobbled unripened berries. Rose-breasted grosbeaks sang. They are one of few bird species to sing while on the nest. The female sings when building the nest, incubating and brooding. The male sings quietly from the nest and loudly from other perches. Their song is a whistled one reminiscent of a robin, only sweeter.
Crows gathered together in the middle of the road as if they were stuck there. Were they velcrows? No, they were chowing down on road kill.
I took a walkabout in New Richland. I looked down at ants scurrying about on the sidewalk. When I’d worked in Arizona recently, a friend told me that The Grand Canyon State was home to 318 species of ants. I recall reading something, I think it was from Carleton College, saying that Minnesota has 102 ant species.
The trees weren’t the only things holding up the sky. A good number of chimney swifts were flying overhead. The chattering of the flying cigars not only made me look up, it made me feel up.
Gerry Schwarz of Mason City sent this quote from Joseph L. Townsend, “Oh, the kind words we give shall in memory live; And sunshine forever impart; Let us oft speak kind words to each other; Kind words are sweet tones of the heart.”