Do I Put It In The Recycle Bin?

If you’re anything like me, when you’re traveling a great distance, you stop at rest areas to take a break from driving, use the facilities, or maybe get a candy bar out of the snack machine. And just inside the door generally you’ll find a rack or two (sometimes three or four, or sometimes a whole room) of different  pamphlets devoted to and promoting the scenic wonders of the area, places to eat, sleep, shop, recreate, and visit. 

It doesn’t make any difference what town Don and I are driving through, I have to check out the entire rack just in case I miss the greatest things to do in the area or county or state. Even if we’re just passing through one state and not even stopping, I’ve got to pull those pamphlets out of their nice cozy slots and take them back to the car where I peruse them and then toss them on the floor of the back seat. 

At the end of whatever trip we’ve taken, as we clean out the car, I stack up all those pamphlets and usually toss 80% of them in the recycle bin. So why do I take them when, clearly, I may never be back in that area? I guess it’s my way of saying to myself that maybe, just maybe, I’ll learn something from reading the pamphlets and hopefully we’ll be back to explore the area and I need to be prepared. 

I pick up camping brochures, restaurant, museum and shopping cards, pamphlets with pictures of beautiful waterfalls and majestic nature tours, lakes where you can swim or hike around. And don’t forget the wax museum and weird art display, the chocolate factory and symphony music hall. I also pick up brochures on car museums, of course, and anything related to cars for Don. The list goes on and on. Now, admit it: You’ve picked up a few pamphlets yourself. 

Right now I have a stack sitting on my desk that I haven’t gone through since we got home from Arizona. Plus there’s an even bigger stack on a shelf in the closet where all our travel maps and magazines are that I plan to go through one of these days. I know what will really happen. A time will come when the whole shelf gets swept into the recycle bin because our days of travel will be  over. I hope that’s a long ways off. Until then, I’ll keep picking up and saving those travel cards and pamphlets! 

Lucky Dogs

The other day I was stretched out on the couch in front of the wood stove looking at the cobwebs (it’s worse when the sun is shining) when it sounded like a herd of elephants coming into the room. It was just dogs Sally and Charlie who live here; two granddogs, Winnie and Chelsie; and the neighbor’s dog, Grady. I tell these dogs often how lucky they are to live here: They don’t need to be on a lead because we live in a rural area. They can come and go as they please because we have a doggie door. There is always a pool of water on the big rock near the back door in case their water bowl is empty. And they can go for a swim in the little stock pond down near the barn.

The neighbors that walk by frequently with their dogs know us all and we know their dogs too. There is always a pocket of dog biscuits nearby. Dixie, who some of you remember, wandered the neighborhood frequently. She had a beautiful smile and loved people. She would often go to the neighbor’s house for a swim, then go inside for a rest before hiking up the hill home. The hunters that we would see once a year always asked for her, and they would often share their lunch with her.

Sally #1 was a hound so she would make the rounds on the property every day but you knew where she was because of her barking. On occasion, when another neighbor’s dog would come to visit, she would sometimes stay for an overnight. We would call the neighbors to let them know she was here.

Then there was Phoebe, who loved balls. There were balls everywhere and no one came without throwing a few balls for her. When it would get slimy, she would rinse it off in the pool of water on the big rock and then start all over. Phoebe was the reason we put in a doggie door. We were both working, and even though the dogs, Phoebe and Phyllis, had beds on the porch, on occasion there would be a thunderstorm and Phoebe would jump at the screen door to get inside. The doggie door solved that problem.

A few years ago some new people moved in down the road. We hadn’t met them yet. One morning I came into the kitchen and there was a beagle sleeping on the couch. I had no idea who she was or where she came from. I stuffed her in the car and went around to neighbors’ houses, but no one knew where she belonged. I finally stopped at the house with the new people in it and, sure enough, she was one of their dogs. She came on occasion to visit but always went home on her own.

Charlie, who is here now, loves sticks, small and large. With the windstorm we had a few weeks ago, there are sticks everywhere, and she is loving it. I’d like to think she will help me pick them up in the spring, but I have my doubts. And Sally #2 is like my shadow, never leaving my side. I think of myself as her security blanket, and if that is what she needs, so be it. All rescue dogs they are, and what lucky dogs they are too.

Joy in Giving

Hopefully, I haven’t been spending too much time in my writings on the fact that I am aging, and it seems to be at a much faster rate than I had ever thought possible in my “younger” years. But as they say, “It is what it is,” and so here I go again.

Probably a good share of you who are reading this have, like me, lived well over half of our lives and have thoughts that go with this time in our lives. I have been thinking of what I have that my children and grandchildren would like to have handed down to them to enjoy. If you have ever visited me, it is obvious that I have a tremendous amount of “stuff” but am certain that probably 98% needs to find its way into a yard sale or most likely a dumpster.

What I do have that is special are a few antique pieces, some of which are from family, and both my boys and grands love family-related things. They seem to become more loved if they have been fortunate to meet the family members and have seen them in use with them. I have a few pieces of nice jewelry (very few because I have never been a “jewelry person,” and I am married to a man that thought that “investing” in jewelry was a poor investment!)

In thinking of what to “hand down” and to who had been on my mind for a while but had not put any of the thoughts into motion. It all started quite unexpectedly this past Christmas. Our family celebration was split this year between families; as you all know, one is working, or the day was not working for all to get together, so we had two get-togethers.

The first was on the Saturday before with our youngest son and family. We went to the Eastside restaurant for a wonderful meal and then back to our house for a few gifts. My granddaughter, Addison, noticed I had a ring on that she had never seen before. I had not worn that ring for several years. It was a gift from my sister I would guess 20 years ago. It was silver with four diamonds. She tried it on and said how much she loved it and maybe I could put it on “the list.” (We have mentioned to the family that if they see something they might like, we should have a list.) I could see how much she liked it, so I said, You can have it! She said, You mean today? (I guess she was expecting it might be hers when I passed on to another place.) She left with her ring and leaving a very happy Grandma to remember the look on her face and how happy she was with this Christmas surprise.

As I said, Christmas was split, so on Christmas day we went to celebrate with our oldest son and family. A slight dilemma: I have a second granddaughter (Addison’s cousin, Grace), and I hoped that Grace had not gotten a text from her cousin about the ring. We had a great day, a wonderful meal, exchanged gifts, and when everyone thought it was coming to an end – Grandma gave Grace one last gift. I had wrapped up my diamond engagement ring and my wedding ring. (Believe it or not, I had the original box.) I can still see her beautiful face when she opened it and what a look, and then she burst into tears and said, I cannot talk.

It made me happier giving the rings than them receiving them. To think I could have missed seeing their reactions if I had waited and they got them as “part of the estate.”

Now my thoughts are what I can give my grandsons. Maybe cars would fit that bill.

Everything Was Aligned That Day!

If you’ll all allow me to gloat this month, I want to tell you about a very special young woman here in Vermont, and that’s my niece, Michelle Archer. You may not recognize her name, but I’m sure you’ve heard of the events of December 17 where two children fell through ice on a pond in Cambridge, VT. One child was pulled from the pond by the elderly landowner, but the second child still needed to be saved. On that day, Vermont State Trooper Michelle Archer was in the right place at the right time and went into that pond and rescued the little girl, who thereafter made a full recovery after a short stay in the hospital.

What I’m sure you haven’t heard about is that Michelle, the youngest daughter of my brother Tom and his wife, Beth, grew up in Milton, and after taking a very circuitous route after college graduation, then became a Vermont State Trooper. She is unassuming, kind and considerate, unflappable, helpful, tough, and stubborn! When she puts her mind to something, it happens. Michelle will probably kill me for telling these stories, but to prove the point of her stubbornness, when she was young, maybe 4 years old, this trait exhibited itself in numerous ways, one of which was when her grandmother would pick her up from daycare and they might stop at the grocery store for an item, Michelle would want candy and be told no, not today. Michelle would then sit in her car seat in the back seat of the car and not say one dang-blasted word to Grama on the ride from the store all the way to home. Not one! No cajoling could make her break her silence.

Another time, when she, her sister and parents were at my folks’ house for dinner and it came time to go home, even though her father would ask her/tell her/plead with her/threaten her to put her winter boots on because they had to leave, she would… take… her… own… sweet… time, whether it be 5 minutes or 15! Boy-o-boy was she stubborn.

Fast forward to today: If you google “Trooper Michelle Archer,” you will see and learn all about the rescue, but what isn’t mentioned is the fact that Michelle is barely 5 foot two inches tall and the pond where the little girl was, was 8 feet deep. You also may not see in her bodycam footage that she had the presence of mind to immediately unhook and drop her utility belt holding her gun, baton, flashlight, and who knows what all else, just before going into the 40-degree water that had thin layers of ice on it. Now, she was fully clothed in her trooper uniform, all the way down to her black boots that have got to weigh 3-4 pounds! Yet she knew she had to swim to that child and swim back to shore with her in her arms.

Michelle spent her summers growing up on the shores of Lake Champlain in Milton where our family camp is. She, being the youngest of 4 siblings at age 9, persevered to outdo them all when she got up on water skis first and skied around the lake with this big, goofy, smug look on her face. And when the time came to “put the water in” in May, she would help her dad with the chore, braving the mid 40-degree water. Just maybe that chore prepared her a little for the rescue.

Michelle’s brother has a maple grove, and she and her sisters help him place thousands of taps in the trees, so there’s always maple syrup around. Well, if you watch the video of the rescue, as Michelle reaches into the back of her cruiser for the flotation device, there sitting squarely in view is a half gallon of Vermont pure maple syrup. She is a born and bred “Vermont” state trooper.

Michelle has been called a hero, justifiably so, along with Trooper Keith Cote, who arrived on scene in time for Michelle to hand the child off to him, who then ran the child to the waiting ambulance. Their boss has recommended them for the department’s lifesaving award. Also, Michelle is now a finalist in a group of 4 for the Trooper of the Year Award from the International Association of Chiefs of Police, awarded in San Antonio, TX, on March 14. She has been interviewed on WCAX, NBC5, Fox News, Inside Edition, WVMT talk radio, along with much more press coverage on local TVs and newspapers across the country, and it’s spread online throughout the world on social media.

But Michelle is the same trooper today that she was on patrol on December 17. And she’s still that cute-as-a-button, smart, kind, considerate, humble….and, of course, stubborn kid that I’ve known all these years. She doesn’t think she’s a hero; she was just doing her job, and, as she has said, everything was aligned that day!

Many thanks to Beth Nichols and Laura Nichols for the photographs.

Age is Just a Number

Maybe it was the fact that the year turned to 2024 and we were inundated with all the happenings of 2023 that got me thinking of my age. I admit, I dwell on it more than I did 40 years ago, but do not think I obsess about it, knowing full well I cannot do anything about it and am extremely grateful, especially when I am with my grandchildren, that I am “still aging.” Because if you stop, well, you know what that means. My sister and I talk about when we stopped being able to do such and such and wonder why we did certain things like store your favorite salad bowl on the top shelf and now must ask your son to get it down or do not use it this time.

I do not think I thought about a broken limb as I traversed the Alps in Austria and Switzerland years ago, but now going from my house to the car, or car to store, I think about it. I have a “plan” for every scenario. Like I have my cell phone in my pocket with a car and house key when I am taking out the trash on pickup day. If I go down, I want to be able to call someone. Or if the house door locks by accident, I can get in. I have a lot of these “little plans.” Did not have them 40 years ago because I did not think I needed them!

Last Tuesday I was confronted by my “age” big time! We have had a problem with blocked calls (calls we DO NOT want blocked), and I have spent hours on the phone with Xfinity trying to correct the problem, to no avail. So they sent Tony, an Xfinity technician, to help us out. Within 15 minutes he found the problem: US! We were hitting the “Block Call” button in error – thus, blocked calls!

To somewhat redeem Gary and I, I had thought of that but could not find any place to unblock. I even went to YouTube to see if there was an answer for it, like when I could not open the panel on my dryer, YouTube showed me how. Anyway, in 30 minutes tops, Tony had unblocked my blocked calls; taught me how to get on Netflix, Amazon, and any other app that might suit my fancy; tested the wiring (suggested upgrade); showed me how to record shows, delete all the shows (we didn’t know we had recorded); looked on my computer and found the password I was needing for my Wi-Fi but thought I had changed. Must admit, I was embarrassed as I watched him do all this as easily as I could read a recipe and hope I have not forgotten something! Gary is always saying, “Why don’t they make a start-to-finish instruction book now?” The reason is that most young people do not need all the steps. They know them.

There will always be a gap between ages, what the young ones know as “common knowledge” and some of us “born earlier” trying to catch up. Of course, the young nowadays do not realize that they too in a few years will be trying to catch up.

Another subject, AI, or Artificial Intelligence: What most do not realize is that it isn’t new. Artificial intelligence has been around longer than me!

Shifting to Winter Mode

Well, it happened again. It was like shifting from first to reverse, going from summer to winter gear. It usually happens sometime in the end of September when I start thinking about getting ready for winter. All the summer chores and projects, most of which never got done, get put on “next year’s list” and I think about putting all the summer stuff to bed. Should I put the lawn mower away or will I need it the whole month of October, like this year? Is it time to clear the porch off and put the furniture away or will we still have some warm weather? Do I get the storm windows out or can I wait a few more weeks? Eventually, it all needs to be done and the weather forecast usually is in control.

The first mention of snow and that’s when there is a mad scramble to get it all done. The trouble is, at my house, all the places that the summer stuff goes is filled with other stuff that accumulated during the summer. That stuff never goes away.

There’s the talk around town… When are you having your snow tires put on? Do you think you have enough wood for the winter? Did you notice all the holiday things in the stores already? The weather usually gives us enough time to get it all done, but then one day you realize you finally have to shift to that winter mode. Everything gets done, sort of, and the porch is filled with wood once again. It happens quickly but it usually all gets done. Then, I’m in winter mode.

Yes, I do need new snow tires, and Phil Potvin of Phil’s Automotive in Underhill has ordered the new set. I have found the snow scrapers in the barn, and the snow shovels too. Winter boots and coats? Yes, I know where they are. Gloves too.

The one thing that really throws me off is setting the clocks back. That’s when winter officially starts for me. It’s dark so early and I’m ready for bed about 8.

Somehow, I muddle through the holidays with less enthusiasm every year. A sign of getting older? Do I bake the fruitcakes that Gael liked or not? All the grandkids are adults now so a quick trip to the gift card rack usually takes care of that. Winter sets in. Then, one day, you hear someone talking about the fact that he noticed that the days were getting longer and there is talk about tapping trees. Someone has seen their first robin and someone else has noticed a crocus in bloom somewhere. Is it time to think about shifting from winter mode to summer mode? Maybe not yet, but it always happens. Get out that summer chore list that you put away and throw away that winter list that never got anything crossed off. Reading a book instead has always worked for me.

Winter mode 2023 is here, folks, like it or not, and I’m going to bake fruitcake today.

Happy 90th Birthday, Mom!

My mother celebrated her 90th birthday last month. It really got me thinking about how we throw around the terms “old folks,” “elderly,” “getting up there,” etc. That is definitely not my mother. She is in great health, lives by herself a couple of miles from my husband and I, still drives, and takes care of others in her condominium neighborhood who are 10-15 years younger than herself. She’ll get a call from her across-the street neighbor asking if she would take her to Shaw’s. Yep, in the car and off to Shaw’s. Another neighbor calls on my mom to accompany her to doc appointments. Does my mom ever say no? Nope. Never.

Can anyone say they’ve had a best friend for 90 years? That’s ninety years. Yep, Mom and Barb still chat every couple months, and the stories they reminisce about that I overhear are just too funny.

At the beginning of the pandemic, before we were all buttoned up in our homes, Mom, at 87 years old, had knee replacement surgery, and after 2 weeks of the VNA physical therapist visiting her post-surgery, that was to be no more, so I took over as her personal physical therapist. I went over every day, and we’d lie on her bed and we’d start off with whatever the first exercise was on her list. I’d say, “Up, 2, 3, 4, 5; down, 2, 3, 4, 5. Up, 2, 3, 4, 5; down, 2, 3, 4, 5.” Over and over and over again. It wasn’t just “up.” It was more like “uuuuuup.” And then we’d start laughing and laughing all the while getting the exercises done. It turned plain old PT into a fun time! At her post-op appointment, her doc commented that she was the oldest (there’s that word again), healthiest patient he had ever done surgery on! What a compliment to my mom! He then asked her when she wanted her other knee done, to which she promptly replied, “Now.” And it happened soon after that.

My mother was born during the Great Depression. She remembers little things from childhood but, thankfully, wasn’t as affected by the depression as others were across the country due to her age. But she does remember walking up to the creamery for her family’s ration of butter and eggs, and collecting metal for the war effort. And one of her most memorable stories happened when she was in grade school, which was just around the corner from her house. The school caught fire in the dead of winter, and everyone was evacuated safely though without coats, hats, boots. She remembers looking over her shoulder on the way out the door to see the curtains in the gym going up in flames! Her father happened to be driving down Main Street at that exact time and glanced over to School Street and wondered to himself why all the kids were outside without their winter coats!

It’s hard to reconcile the terms “old,” “elderly,” “aged” when my mom is going strong. Yet we at times flippantly use those terms to describe friends and family members in their 70s and 80s who are sick or suffering from dementia or dying. I often wonder what my mom thinks when we use those terms, and I’m noticing myself more and more trying to downplay the age as opposed to the condition because, to me, my mom is not old, elderly or aged.

Is life fair? No, we all know life is not fair. We take the good with the bad and keep on plugging away hoping to reach whatever magic age number we choose happy and healthy. And I hope to follow in my mom’s footsteps.

Happy 90th Birthday, Mom!! You’re the best. And Happy New Year!

What Difference 70 Years Makes!

In 1953, I was 5 years old and anxiously waiting to start first grade the next year. There was no kindergarten, no Head Start, no play schools, so you just waited until you were 6 and could start first grade.

Here I might add that in Athens, Vermont, there was no bus, so transportation was walking and in good weather biking.

My granddaughter was here the other day, which got me to thinking of what she has been privileged with at 5 years of age. In ’53, there was no TV, no internet, no cell phones (for my family anyway), no computers, tablets. You get the idea. We had what is now called a “landline,” which the line part was shared with about five other houses. Every group had at least one person who had the time (or took the time) to monitor the calls. Everyone had a different ring, so you would become accustomed to who was getting a call and I guess you would decide if you should listen!

We were a one-car, one-bathroom family, a washer with no dryer, no dishwasher. (My sister and I became the dishwashers and the clothes dryer by helping hang them on the line or, in bad weather, the wooden bars near the stove.) There was still snow in 1953 but no snowblower, just shovels for us, and Grandpa would plow with the tractor. The insulation at our house was lacking so hay bales and piles of leaves went around the foundation. The storm windows were put on every fall and removed in the spring.
My mother had a huge garden and would can, pickle, and store up everything we needed in that line for the winter. I don’t recall having a store-bought vegetable, pickle, relish until I was 13 when we left the farm to move five miles to Cambridgeport, where there wasn’t room for such a big garden. I remember about that time we were “gifted” with a loaf of Wonder bread! Mother always made her own bread and rolls. As kids we were thrilled with that loaf of store-bought! How mixed up that was?? My uncle tapped five trees and Mother would boil the sap and get about three gallons of syrup. In her “free time,” she made a good share of my sisters’ and my clothes. My two brothers wore jeans and shirts, and they were bought or handed down (can’t recall).

I should mention here that Mother was a bookkeeper in a retail store in Bellows Falls while doing everything she did for us at home. I get tired just thinking about it!

I won’t be around to see what another 70 years will bring and I guess, being truthful, I don’t want to!

DO I REMEMBER 1953?

Not really. I was twelve years old (now you know how old I am), taking piano lessons and ballet lessons, riding my bike all over town sometimes with someone sitting on the seat or handlebars, roller skating, playing stick ball and jump rope in the street in front of our house, and getting ice cream from the Good Humor man when he came by.

My father drove a 1947 Dodge, and when he had two weeks of vacation, we headed to Vermont. By then, we discovered The Pines in St. Albans Bay where my father’s employer had a camp. He had some connection to St. Albans. My father rented a camp for the summer, and I spent the days on the lake, biking up to the Bay to the store for ice cream and watching ball games on Sunday mornings in the field next to the camps.

We had a beagle named Buttons. Buttons was still around when I met Gael. Gael didn’t like Beagles or Bassetts. I think Clark Wright’s parents might have owned one and it bit Gael once, so he said. He didn’t like horses either. One bit him once, so he said.

It was a good time to be young.

What a Way to Fight a Fire!

american la france 900 series pumper

I’ve been thinking about my early memories of the VAE. Gael and I weren’t married — just dating — when on occasion we would go to the VAE meetings at the Lincoln Inn in Essex Junction. I remember Pev Peake being there, because by then he was a good friend of Gael’s. Probably most of the others are gone now with the exception of Lloyd Davis. There was always a collection of old cars in the car park, a number of them being someone’s daily transportation.

Fast forward a few years to the summer of 1960. We hadn’t been married but a few weeks and living in St. Albans when a good friend, Mahlon Teachout, stopped by. The next thing I know, Gael and Mahlon had left to look at a fire truck in St. Albans somewhere. Little did I know then that that would be happening with regularity in the coming years. I guess I could have called myself an old car widow. Well, the two of them bought this fire truck, an American LaFrance fire truck, and proceeded to take it to Mahlon’s father’s shop in Colchester. They spent many hours there doing something or other, but within a matter of weeks, the fire truck became a speedster with just a seat, gas tank, and right-hand drive steering wheel, four wheels, etc.

It eventually came back to St. Albans, and we had a great time driving it around. Was it registered? Probably not, but I don’t remember. That was so many years ago when license plates got moved from one vehicle to another. I’m sitting here looking at a picture of it. Quite a thing. We took it to the Stowe Show in 1960 and that was my first memory of the Stowe Show. No trailering this beast. We drove it. What fun! Then, at one car meet at the fairgrounds in Essex that the VAE held there for a while, the track was open to folks to try out their old cars. Gael and Mahlon did just that and ended up tearing the track up, so they were asked to leave.

The next year we moved to Underhill, along with a 1934 Chevrolet Sedan (Edward), Gael’s Willys Knight, a 1927 Federal Truck, and the speedster. Eventually the speedster ended up in Barre, and then I don’t know what happened to it, but I have photos of it along with the registered number plaque and some great memories — memo- ries of the speedster and the early days of the VAE.

A Perfect Day

I don’t follow baseball anymore but have been curious about what people think of the new rules like timing for the pitcher, etc., been curious about what people think of the making the game shorter and, I guess, less boring. I heard one father say that he saves up to take his son to a game and doesn’t feel he’s getting his money’s worth with the shorter version.

I saw the other day that the Yankees had a PERFECT GAME! Which I guess with all the celebrating is a game that is few and far between. If you baseball fans know it was not the Yankees, please forgive me because I didn’t take the time fact check and you don’t have to write me a Tweet, Twitter, email or Facebook. You get the idea! I wondered if after the game the rest of their day was perfect.

It seems that when I go out, something always happens to ruin my perfect day. The other day I was having a great day when, backing out of a parking space, I came close to running over a motorcycle (that was bigger than my car) and, thankfully for me and him, my car has a backup bell which screeched at me. I try to be very careful, but the other guy has to be careful too. His space would still have been there even with a bit of patience.

Some things that have happened lately is a woman almost knocked me over getting to the register at Kinney Drug. It was so apparent that a man grabbed my arm to steady me. Of course, she could have had a bleeding husband in the car, because she did have Band-Aids!

I have a habit of talking to people when I am shopping (thus laying myself open to different reactions). A few seem to enjoy the interaction but certainly not all. I especially like to comment on the children, and that gets you some “dagger” looks, grabbing of the children to protect them from “that” woman. As if at 75 and after raising children of my own I am out looking for kids to snatch. I want you to know that I never put my hand out to touch a child (or a strange dog for probably the same reasons).

Several years ago, Gary and I were traveling to and from Montana, and we had stopped to look at some campers when Gary noticed an old, rusty car with a camper hitched to the back. Well, it started to roll toward some brand new autos and – behold! – no driver. Gary, being quite a bit younger at the time, ran over and jumped in the car to stop it. He was met with two elderly ladies batting and yelling at him to “get out, get out!” He managed to stop the car and get out without any damage to him or the vehicles. After meeting the driver of the car, I felt this could have been the best day in these ladies’ lives to have Gary steal them away, and after they calmed down, I think they felt this way too. Gary always said if he were going down for grand larceny, auto theft and kidnapping, it wouldn’t be in an old, rusty car and camper and not one but two elderly ladies that could pass as his grandmothers!

I thought I had the perfect day last week. I was waiting for my order at the Mexican Restaurant in Derby when two ladies walked in and ordered. With what one was wearing, I was pretty sure she worked at Dunkin’ Donuts, so I asked her (and she did). Then I asked if they sell frozen lemonades anymore, and the answer was no, which I voiced my disappointment. That ended the conversation, and I got my order and started to leave when she stopped me and said if I would come in later, that she would be working and she would make me a frozen lemonade! Wow, I thought this was my lucky day!

When I went into Dunkin’, there were two big signs asking for help and saying they had to close early for that reason. Well, I got my lemonade and was feeling great about the day when the man behind me started yelling, “Can’t you all hurry up?”

Just remember, there are those out here trying for a “perfect day,” so, please, do your part to help, or at least get out of the way.