Partly Nonsense

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN JOEL KLAASSEN
Strange things keep happening to me. Saturday night, after I had eased into my La-Z-Boy, it started to itch behind my ears and the back of my neck. Then, little bumps appeared all over and the chills and fever came. Then the bottoms of my feet became so tender it was painful to walk.


By the middle of the night, the fever broke and by Sunday morning I felt fine again. Except, for the red skin without the bumps.


I searched the Internet for information about rashes and was unprepared to deal with all of the information I found. It couldn’t be the measles, could it?


From everything we could determine, it must have been the dye in my new shirt that caused the misery. Since I didn’t want to spread the malady if it was measles, I called Hillsboro Community Medical Center and spoke with the registered nurse on duty. She said it very well could be the dye in the shirt and not to worry about it if the fever was gone.


On Sunday, I found this great big red insect bite on my back, so maybe that was the culprit, or maybe the shirt and the bite. Who knows? And maybe, who cares?


* * *


Back in the early days of Daylight Savings Time in Minnesota, my Grandpa Dick, who was a minister and also a farmer, used to call it Daylight Wasting Time.


The clock said noon, but the hay said 11. To get to an evening meeting in town, he had to quit an hour early from work that was delayed an hour of drying time.


* * *


I miss the days of being on my grandparents’ farm and Grandma’s cooking, especially the verenika. She boiled hers. I once ate 18 of those slippery things-much to the chagrin of my parents when they found out.


Grandpa always took a nap on the divan after lunch. Since he couldn’t hear out of one ear, he would sleep with the good ear down in a pillow. We could make all of the noise we wanted and it didn’t phase him a bit.


* * *


Most of the news we hear is about something that happens some place else. But remember, the news of what happens here is some place else for those living some place else.


* * *


The piece of furniture I call a couch has many other names. It is also called a divan, a love seat, a sofa and even a davenport.


When we were kids in Minnesota, my sister and I took a box of saltine crackers and jumped up and down on them on the davenport until the crackers were powder.


We also took milk and poured it down the drain in the bathtub.


I’m sure the ideas to do those things were hers.

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