Jacki Haupt, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Don Haupt, will be leaving in a day or two for a trip to the Holy Land. We've known Jacki and her parents and family for several years and we were pleased as punch that she was able to join the travelers. We know when she comes back she'll have many interesting stories to tell.
As a matter of fact, we made several suggestions about speech topics, but Jacki is so polite all she would do is smile and say thank-you. I guess she'll do well without our tips.
Dave Brecheisen, the physical therapist at St. Mary's hospital, gave rescue squadsmen several suggestions on emergency care of the injured during a meeting the other night.
Dave spoke on such topics as back strains, body spasms and sprains. He also explained the injury to the body in what we commonly call whiplash.
Dave didn't reveal this to other squadsmen, but after the meeting I gathered he just about had a combination of all those ills when he dropped his Nikkormat 35 mm camera. I was going to suggest such things as ice packs and splints, but decided that his ills would be best served without puns . . . and a camera repair shop.
Little Bucks
Dan Hall, the Thurman, Ia., haymaker, has a Billy goat that he bought to "keep company" with a colt. Meanwhile, Fremont County Extension Agent Dick McClure, always the man with the initiative, is attempting to locate a nanny. So? So . . . it's pretty obvious . . . goat milk will soon be peddled door-to-door by the Hall-McClure Kid Kompany . . . Don Mason was installed the other night as president of the Scimitar Shrine and he thanked the men. That's a nice thing to do . . . and everyone at the bar said thanks, too.
Stolen
Didya hear the one about the man who inquired at the Indianapolis airport about a plane ticket to Chicago? He didn't realize that the two cities are in different time zones . . . "The plane leaves here at 12 p.m. and arrives in Chicago at 12:01 p.m.," the ticket agent said.
"Would you repeat that again please?" he asked.
"The plane leaves here at 12 and arrives in Chicago at 12:01. Do you want a reservation?"
"No," said the traveler, "I think I'll just hang around and watch that thing take off."
We don't know at this writing whether the groundhog will see his shadow and forecast a lot more winter, or whether the overcast will do the trick. We'll take the latter.
Regardless of whether you realize it, plans are being made in Nebraska City for spring. Hot dog! Doesn't that sound wonderful.
Mayor Ervin Rogers is looking forward to the completion of several city projects, but confidentially, just between you and me, the mayor and I have a pet project — pouring concrete on the drive in Steinhart park.
Among the many things at which I am an expert are baseball and softball. I can warm a bleacher for double headers many evenings providing the popcorn and Pepsi supplies don't give out.
A number of times the mayor and I have attended the same girls' softball game. We weren't alone when we watched a cloud of dust sweep over the moms and dads, grandpas and grandmas in lawn chairs or in the bleachers after a line of cars drove by the diamond.
Well, if the mayor and the council and the park board folks get their druthers, then we can look forward to a hard-surfaced drive ALL THE WAY around Steinhart . . . and that means popcorn that isn't mixed with crushed rock dust.
I'm just optimistic enough . . . or selfish . . . to want that paving extended into Wildwood park. The park has blossomed as far as attracting picnickers and playground equipment and it deserves attention.
And speaking of parks, Craig Bergman, superintendent of Arbor Lodge State Park, is hopeful that the improvements at the state park this year will attract more people. Arbor Lodge mansion draws visitors by the thousands, but most do their picnicking in the City parks. Craig is hopeful that the state park will be utilized more.
Those projects include heating and air conditioning for the mansion. Craig says that the mansion will be open for a longer tourist season when the job is completed.
And away we go . . .
No, I haven't given up plans to take Millie to the Black Hills on a motorcycle. I've switched . . . now it's the mountains of Colorado.
We were talking about that very subject the other day . . .
"Ivan, go outside and help Keaton," she said.
"Huh?"
"You told him to get his motorcycle out and he can't get it out of a snowbank next to the house."
"Oh, yeah . . . better bundle up and go help the boy."
"What on earth did you want him to do with a motorcycle this time of the year?" she asked.
I explained to the Domestic Engineer that it was time to get the motorcycles out of the storage building, start them up and charge the batteries.
She snorted a couple of times as I went out the door, but I saw her peeking out the kitchen window as we got the machines started and revved the engines.
After the job was finished and the machines stored once again, I suggested that a Harley Davidson "hog" would start a lot easier and be safer to handle.
"Whatever are you talking about?" asked the Queen Bee.
"A motorcycle and our trip to the Black Hills in the heat of the summer."
"You're crazy," she said, "I told you I'm not going to ride on the back of a motorcycle with you to the Black Hills or anyplace else!"
I could see right then that she was weakening . . .
"Uh . . . mother . . . would you like to have a motorcycle of your own . . . complete with your own helmet and one of those safety orange uniforms?" (That really turned her on).
"Ivan . . . you're not serious . . . are you?"
(I knew then it was just a matter of a few more choice words).
"Naw, I guess not. I was just thinking . . . maybe we ought to go see Bob and Betty Toler in Denver. Betcha Bob would go riding with me."
"What about Betty?" Queenie asked.
"Oh, I don't know . . . you females can sit around the house, play with the kids or watch television or something while Bob and I mow-bile up the mountain drives."
"Oh, no you don't . . . I'm going to write Betty and see if she'd be game. We could make it a foursome, stop some place for a picnic . . . and . . . and . . .."
"Really, mother, it's not that easy. Motorcycles require maintenance, there is no real comfort and the wind is blowing in your face all the time," I said as I polished her up a little bit more.
"I suppose you're trying to talk me out of it now!" she snorted.
"Who? Me? Gol-l-l-y sakes, dear lady . . . if you really want to go on a motorcycle trip this summer, I wouldn't think of trying to talk you out of it," I answered cool, man . . . cool.
"Well, just keep quiet," she interrupted. "I know what I want to do this summer . . . and besides I'll get a good suntan . . . a new sports outfit . . . and you say a Harley Davidson motorcycle?"
"Yeah . . . I think that's the name of those highway machines . . . or was it a water cooled Suzuki?" I asked.
"Don't ask me," she said. "Find out something about them!" she ordered so firmly.
"Okay, okay . . . don't get rattled."
(Lookout Sen. Cal Carsten . . . I may be polishing the smooth talk for a shot at your seat in the legislature some day).