In its glory days the old Sachs-Dolmar would make short work out of any kind of a woodcutting project. As long as I kept the chain sharp. My brother Lyle told me of going on a firewood gathering project with some fellows from his church. After the first hour or so, the party changed from cutting wood and bragging on the merits of the various brands of chainsaws to a group participation act of trying to help one another make any chainsaw present cut wood.

Life for me has been all too interesting since I underwent surgery for total joint replacement on both knees. Since no one reading this is getting any younger, perhaps my experiences will be useful to someone else.

Several people have asked if they added to my height when they put in the new knees. The doc claims not. But I can now stand with my legs fully straight, a thing I could not do before, so I may well appear to be taller. The other regular question is why in the world I would have both knees done at the same time. The doctor recommended I do both at once. He said physical condition of the patient and whether one knee was noticeably worse than the other were the pertinent factors in this decision.

Pop cans have changed over the years, particularly the method to open either pop cans or those containing “barley pop.” Those very much younger than yours truly think a “church key” is the key that unlocks the door of a house of worship.

I love to eat turkey. I know that the logic of the thought is faulty, but it seems to me the more turkey I eat, the fewer turkeys there are in the world.

It was 1968. I was freshly married and in college. The employment I found to go with the college and the new family left me working Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays and attending college Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. My employer had a fair amount of farm land as well as a small feedlot and too many turkeys.

Overheard from a fellow who was married to a beautician, “It’s like being married to a chameleon, I never know what I’m going to come home to.” He went on to talk about asking questions only his wife would know the answer to before patting on the fanny the redhead who had been a blonde ten hours earlier.

Years back, Leo and I would occasionally hear the drone of what we assumed to be someone flying the night mail. I suggested to Leo, one time, that as discouraging as things were at the moment, it might be in order to sell the hay trucks, buy a twin Beach airplane and fly the night mail. Leo pondered it for some time, and then replied that in all the years he’d been involved in things powered by motors, he had yet to find one that would not eventually need to have a mechanic called to it.