The reporter came to the little blue house at the end of the road to interview Paul and I about our lives and times and artistic achievements.
Well, thanks to Linda Messmer and a good interview with Frank Phillips, gates opened in the past decade. I have sent thousands of words flooding in your direction. Mistakes here and there, there and here, it does not matter. We do our best.
I felt quilt when I decided to make this article my own, but I wanted to write and the local news was not coming in very fast.
I decided to move in another direction and still include what I gained from others. Your response and that of management of The Times cleared the way. It was OK to take the road least taken.
I brought you home with me to the little blue house at the end of the road. I have invited you into my world every week without fail, except one time.
The Brazil Times did not publish on Thanksgiving Day that year.
You visited the Lynch homestead and I walked you through the simple life well led, the good times, the bad times of sorrow and pain. You followed me through grades one-12 and advanced studies.
This "open book" took you along on dates. I know I was a little stingy with that subject.
I even hinted that no more should be saved for my second book.
A wedding with no guests was sort of "no frills," so I invited you to the elopement of Paul Baby and your's truly that took place 55 years ago, Nov. 15, 1957. We are still short on blessings there.
You followed my dirty white tennis shoes through the woods of this 40-acre spread.
We fished, hunted wild game, trapped, picked wild berries and embraced the seasons.
We picked wild flowers and hunted mushrooms. We plowed and planted, dug holes and covered them up and split hardwood, firewood and waded through a myriad of other pleasures.
Then we rested beneath the stately maple to watch a proud veteran lower and raise the American flag, the symbol of our freedom.
We paid homage to our heroes -- the living and dead, of all wars and service connections. We even visited the gravesites of our loved ones -- yours and mine and others neither knew.
When we got tired of walking and riding bikes around Stringtown to visit with all of my friends of yesterday and today, fact is, I welcomed you inside the little blue house at the end of the road and showed you around.
You saw a labor of love in the neat little dollhouse that I have held special ever since I was old enough to skip next door from my home place.
I told you about my neighbor, the late Mary Gazda Holechko.
We sat beneath the giant Catalpa and sorted rare coins and stamps. She and I cooked up a storm in this kitchen.
The little girl next door and one of the best pals I have ever had bonded like glue. I poured out my soul to her as I do to you and often sought solace when needed.
Her memory lives on in a special place in my store. I just needed to share that with you.
Yes, it is all there, my readers. New we will rest a short time and I will whip up some good eats. I won't mention what my dad liked to eat this time.
That did not sit well with delicate stomachs.
During the past life of this article I have served up many tasty meals of comfort food. You and I are reminded of other kitchens, and other days, women dear to our hearts and starched print aprons. I reckon that has not changed that much for me.
I rather like the way I go on about my life and loves, especially. A starch apron wears well on me still. Just last week I received a designer apron from Starla, just because!
I just wish my mentors could have enjoyed the modern conveniences that I have today.
I guess that's why I still use the knuckle buster, ever so often, to make slaw and push the Kitchenaid appliance aside and get down on my hands and knees to scrub the kitchen floor when the notion strikes.
I welcomed you to peek into my skillets, pots, pans and oven and welcomed you to my winter store.
So much of the good old days is alive and well, in good order, in my space. This writer always found a place for you at my table.
You filled my cup until it overflowed and more.
This ditzy blonde brought about some humor to the mix, a giggle or two.
Only a total of five frowns reached out and touched me. Your many calls, letters and e-mail messages, from coast to coast and as far away as Afghanistan, in regard to Brazil Buzz, brought such great joy to me. My family appreciates you as well.
Oh, I know I am far from perfect and I have never claimed otherwise. I am real.
What you see is what you get -- an old country gal with a passion for people, all people, and I might add and a passion for writing. I love God and thank Him every day for the blessings that he bestows on my family and me.
There is a lot that can be said about the '40s and '50s and beyond. Still there is much more to tell.
My mother always said, "If you can't say something nice about someone or anything say nothing at all." I adhere to those words every day. Who wants bad remarks to darken their read?
At the end of my first column, I told you that I was going to allow my new fishing pole to gather dust and my baits to leave the can. I wanted to talk to you through this newspaper.
Well folks, today the dust-covered rod and reel is still sitting in the corner of the garage.
The worms have long since bit the dust and I am still too busy digging my visits with you to care about casting out lines of a different kind.
I am now, temporarily out of steam. I hope you enjoy our trip this week!
Next week's article is just behind the tumblers, in my dizzy dome, until then. I can be reached by phone at 446-4852 or by e-mail at firstname.lastname@example.org.