Echoes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting:

I’ve been eating an all-vegetarian diet.

How is that working for you?

I don’t know. Vegetarians are really hard to catch.

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: During this time of year when many roads are passage-restrictive, I realize that the true fall color is that of an orange barrel. Average things are made in a satisfactory. Experience matters and batters.

The cafe chronicles

He ordered a leg of walleye and talked about his old washing machine. An intrusive R turned it into a warshing machine. He was Hartland Harold, purveyor of local news. He told of a church asking for an organ donor and the music store recovering stolen lute. He claimed it was all just as true as there was rice in the salt shaker.

Finding a fridge 

I didn’t want to go. She wanted me to go.

We compromised and I went.

I’m a good shopper because I’m content to wait by the cart.

I sang the theme song from “Super Chicken” in the car in the hopes it would cause a trip cancellation. “Super Chicken” was a cartoon produced by the creators of “Rocky and Bullwinkle” that ran with “George of the Jungle” in the ‘60s and ‘70s. Henry Cabot Henhaus III, the world’s richest chicken, drank a Super Sauce that transformed him into Super Chicken, with no discernable superpowers. The song went like this, “When you find yourself in danger. When you’re threatened by a stranger. When it looks like you will take a lickin’. There is someone waiting, who will hurry up and rescue you. Just call for Super Chicken!”

We’ve had our refrigerator for years. We’re due for a new one. The old one is ailing. I love it when an appliance store worker puts a refrigerator on a cart to move to a delivery vehicle. It gives me the opportunity to say, “Don’t spoil your dinner.”

A man, a photo and a slip

This story is told with the permission of the protagonist. A friend, Paul Lynne of Hartland, was off on a pilgrimage. He was far from home visiting relatives. A nice thing to do. His wife, Linda, needed to stay home, but she aided his travel by booking a bed-and-breakfast for him. Paul checked in. Linda called to make sure all was OK and asked Paul to send her a photo of the room. Paul, a dutiful husband as are all the husbands I know, took a picture of it with his cellphone and texted it to his wife. It looked good, except for the woman’s slip hanging on the wall. There had been a slip up and someone hadn’t removed the previous renter’s slip from the wall. It’s a good thing that Linda is understanding.

Other Loafers’ Clubs

Connie Weakley of Plain City, Ohio wrote, “Der Dutchman is an Amish restaurant in Plain City. Years ago, farmers met for coffee after they had done their early morning chores, so their table was rightly named ‘The Farmers’ Table.’ After they retired, they continued with the morning ritual, but the name of their gathering is now ‘The Stretching the Truth Table.’ At the Der Dutchman in Sarasota, they call it the ‘Meet Loaf Table.’ My paternal grandmother and my dad were very superstitious. If you came in one door, you had to go out the same door or you would have bad luck. You couldn’t have 13 around a table for fear of bad luck. If you saw a black cat cross in front of you when you were walking or driving, you had to spit in your hat and put it back on your head or you would have bad luck. You had to eat pork and sauerkraut on New Year’s Day or you would have bad luck all year. If you took down your Christmas decorations before New Year’s Day, you would have bad luck. I still adhere to these. Who wants bad luck?”

Nature notes

Marge Mutschler of Bricelyn asked why there were no birds at her feeders. There are a number of possible reasons. Natural foods are plentiful. There could be predators in the yard — cats and hawks. Changes occur — migration and nomadic tendencies. I know your feeders are clean and the food fresh, so expect the birds to return.

Meeting adjourned

The flowers of kindness never fade.