November 26 – We got a nice phone call from our granddaughter Rindy yesterday, wondering what we would be doing for Thanksgiving. She will be coming here on Thursday morning and so we will have Thanksgiving dinner with her over at the Popes with the Reynolds gang. Rindy should have fun getting acquainted with our new cat, which comes into the house several times a day but seldom stays very long.
I can smell chocolate. Mom is making chocolate fudge with black walnuts in it for Thanksgiving dinner. Sure does smell good!
Went over to Pleasant Hill and got a few things (since our normal Thursday town day will be Thanksgiving), including gas for the car at $2.49, a prescription at Price Chopper, and some millet for the birds. Our next destination was the church school, where they were providing a free Thanksgiving dinner to supporting church folk. The food was good, plenty of seats, and we sat right across from the two lower grade teachers and felt privileged. The kids collected our plates when we were through and brought slices of pumpkin pie, with creamy topping sprayed from a can if we wanted it. We wanted it. Well, I did. Mom had a tiny portion just to try it.
After eating we left for Lee’s Summit as Mom wanted to do some shopping since there were some sales that looked good. I think she got stuff mostly for me – a pound of butter, a can of sweetened condensed milk and a package of milk chocolate chips. Ah, such luscious health foods! But she also bought sweet and Irish potatoes, celery, and I can’t remember what else. Oh yes, a loaf of brown whole-wheat bread. Something to spread that butter on.
Phoned cousin Sylvia Mullen to thank her for the great loaf of homemade bread she sent us. All is well on the Mullen ranch, the several inches of snow they had had had melted, and their root cellar is full of potatoes they raised. Sylvia now has a word processor and is delighted at how easy it is to write letters and erase errors so easily. The letter she wrote us was in the package with the bread but I didn’t see it and threw it in the trash. Fortunately I hadn’t burned it yet and was able to rescue the letter undamaged!
Her ancient typewriter is now an antique and sitting idly on a table somewhere. All three of her daughters are in the medical profession, and Sylvia is a nurse, though retired. And with three of our grandchildren also being medical people, we are surrounded by relatives anxious to keep us all well or taped together. – DALE