Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting:

I’m getting older.

What was your first clue?

It gets late earlier.

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: An ancestor of mine fell in love with the Lady Gail. He rode for a week without rest to the castle in which she lived, only to be met by her father, King Gene. My ancestor stated his intentions. “No problem,” said the king, “but to win the hand of Lady Gail, you must defeat my five greatest swordsmen and then slay the fire-breathing dragon that lives in the sewer while you’re armed only with a toothpick, the flat kind of toothpick, not one of the round and sharp ones. Well, you can all guess what my ancestor did. He asked for directions to the castle where the Lady Trixie lived.

Stop it

I’m like most drivers. I suffer from amberbivalence. I’m uncertain whether to stop for a yellow light or put the pedal to the metal. But I stop for rural stop signs religiously. Such a stop sign isn’t stoptional. I stopped at one recently that I didn’t want to stop for. There was a dead skunk on the road right where my car would be stopping.

I stopped. It was the right and safe thing to do.

It was a smelly stop. The windows were up, but the odor found me. As I drove away, I said, “So long, Flower. Sorry for your loss.”

In the movie, “Bambi,” a skunk is sleeping in flowers and Bambi mistakes it for one of the flowers and names it “Flower.”

I believe we should stop and smell the flowers. I even stopped to smell Flower.

The news from Hartland Harold

Gnarly was a meek fellow. His wife ruled the roost. Some called him henpecked. His brother felt sorry for him and gave him a book on how to be more assertive. Gnarly read it while on a business trip. Inspired, he came home and told his wife that he was the head of the house and his word was the law. He told her to fix his favorite meal and to make it snappy. He wanted a gourmet dessert afterwards. For the first time, he spoke to her in an assertive tone. He ordered her to pour him his favorite adult beverage and that from now on, he was in charge and she’d do everything that he said. He told her that as soon as the meal was finished, she should prepare a bath for him. He was going to relax as long as he wanted to in that bathtub.

“When I’m done, guess who will dress me and comb my hair?” he asked.

His wife replied, “The funeral director.”

Those thrilling days of yesteryear 

We climbed the rope in gym class. It ran to a beam near the gymnasium’s ceiling. There was a red mat positioned under it. As we found our way to the end of our rope, we were comforted by the knowledge that should we fall, a cushiony, nearly one-inch thick mat protected us. It was red so that the bloodstains wouldn’t show. Plus it gave the teacher something to roll a body up in. It was more dangerous than lawn darts, which were nothing more than harpoons for kids. We each got a turn trying to climb that rope. We did both rope climbing and dart tossing without wearing bicycle helmets. This was during a time when we got skinned up a lot. We were told that skin was free. It would grow back. Maybe other body parts were supposed to, too.

Nature’s notes

It may be only 19th among the states in apple production according to USDA figures, but Minnesota is the birthplace of the Honeycrisp apple. The University of Minnesota developed it by crossing a Macoun and a Honeygold. The first seedling was planted in 1962 and the apple was released for commercial propagation in 1991. It’s one of 2,500 apple varieties in the U.S. and one of over 7,500 worldwide.

Doris Day sang, “I love you a bushel and a peck. A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.”

A bushel of apples weighs 42 to 48 pounds and is equal to 4 pecks.

We must love the Honeycrisp apple a bushel and a peck. It became the state fruit in 2006.

Meeting adjourned

Med vennlig hilsen (“Best regards” in Norwegian) and be kind.