Hamburgers, hot dogs, salads, lots of desserts and good humor at the Richard Brown House in Loudon with the Young at Heart club. We told stories. And the NH accents were distinct. The chair of the nominating committee read the list of nominated officers, then opened the floor to see if anybody wanted to run against any of them. Silence ensued. Which was good. She said, “I pritneah had to strangle one to be on the board.” Pritneah! Carolyn told a story about a flea that moved to Alaska which I dassant retell here. But it got a good laugh.
Another Becky told about growing up on a dairy farm in Loudon, which would occasionally be visited by city people interested in cows and border collies and so forth. One lady was amazed at how the cows, when called to the barn, went right into their stalls. “How do they know which stall to go into?” the lady asked.
Becky’s dad said dryly: “They just look for their names over the stalls.” As they were.
Marilyn Dubuc told a story so dry it took me 24 hours to laugh. But here it is. When the family lived in New York, Marilyn’s mother would give fancy bridge parties for the fancy ladies of the town. She was very particular about her house keeping and decorating and did a beautiful job of it. But somehow, on one ill-fated afternoon, the dust cloth missed a side table. One of the invited guests was observed, by Mother, to run her finger discretely (but not discretely enough) along the edge of the dusty side table.
Mother said to the guest: “A blind man be glad to see ya.”
Another Becky told about growing up on a dairy farm in Loudon, which would occasionally be visited by city people interested in cows and border collies and so forth. One lady was amazed at how the cows, when called to the barn, went right into their stalls. “How do they know which stall to go into?” the lady asked.
Becky’s dad said dryly: “They just look for their names over the stalls.” As they were.
Marilyn Dubuc told a story so dry it took me 24 hours to laugh. But here it is. When the family lived in New York, Marilyn’s mother would give fancy bridge parties for the fancy ladies of the town. She was very particular about her house keeping and decorating and did a beautiful job of it. But somehow, on one ill-fated afternoon, the dust cloth missed a side table. One of the invited guests was observed, by Mother, to run her finger discretely (but not discretely enough) along the edge of the dusty side table.
Mother said to the guest: “A blind man be glad to see ya.”
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