Memories

    “How many?” “3500+” 3500+ what? That’s an estimate of the number of evening meetings I attended in my working life. It came up at a coffee table after church Sunday. Where I also said “I didn’t mind working weekends as much as evening meetings. This I related to a farm childhood where we worked six days a week. The only Sunday work was the necessary care of the livestock.

   Another thought has occurred to me. Could part of the feeling of burden with evening meetings be related to milking cows? Distinct memories remain of the discomfort of going back out into the cold after supper to milk cows. Was that the farm equivalent of evening meetings?

   This triggered the memory of one of Dad’s dictates. When we returned from church Sunday noon, he insisted that we change out of our ‘church clothes’ before going to tend the livestock. He would also put on clean overalls if he needed to go to town for parts. He’d even shave if he hadn’t in the morning.

   These ruminations are a clue of what a leisurely life I now lead.

Takk for alt,

Al

              Time for a Joanne picture: holding lutefisk in lefse.