This is the time of year when people start getting all warm and fuzzy. And here's what gives me that feeling:
Just about every day the spouse and I get one or more calls — some from nearby communities, but others from as far away as California — offering assistance.
You see, these folks, total strangers, are concerned about the warranties on our cars and want to be sure we have adequate extended warranties
I don't know about you, but I think that's very thoughtful of them. They've interrupted their meals — I know this because they've interrupted ours — to contact us about this serious issue.
There's not a chance our aging vehicles are going to see any more warranties, but still it's nice that someone cares enough to call us.
If that doesn't make you feel all warm and fuzzy, I don't know what will.
First class treatment
Marsha R., of Baton Rouge, says our recent tales of military personnel being upgraded to first class on airline flights reminded her of another upgrade:
"On an early morning flight to New York, I was pleased to see my broker, Jerry Goss, back in the cheap seats near me. I congratulated him for his thrift.
"When a stewardess appeared and took him up to first class, he apologized as I berated him as a class traitor.
"Soon the stew came to explain that she wanted some advice about her investments, so had kidnapped him. She offered me a free compensatory drink.
"I declined on principle and the fact that it was too early in the day and the trip to start accepting drinks from strangers."
Too early? The Bloody Mary was invented to deal with just that situation.
Fun with furniture
The story about armoires and "ar'mers" in the Saturday column brought this response from Ronnie Plauché:
"My late brother, Emerson 'Fuzz' Plauché Jr., always ready with an exaggerated description, offered this comparison of ar'mer/armoire:
“ ‘Folks throw ar'mers away. Armoires go for $1,500 in antique stores.’ ”
Living with liver
Our seminar on organ meats reminded Lucy Sloan of this Thanksgiving tale about her forgetful father. (You might recall that on Friday she told of the mystery steaks he procured for the family despite World War II meat rationing.)
"We never knew what to expect from my dad. It was in the 1940s and we were a one-car family living in Dunn, North Carolina, between Raleigh and Fort Bragg.
"One year my mother gave him a list of groceries for Thanksgiving dinner the next day. It was later than usual when he got home. He had forgotten to buy the turkey and fixings. All the stores were closed, and in our small town no restaurants were open.
"For our Thanksgiving dinner we had liver pudding sandwiches."
Some explanation: In more western parts of North Carolina, liver pudding is called liver mush, a popular dish. It's a mixture of pig liver and spices (Lucy says the taste is similar to boudin), formed into squares and fried like scrapple.
There's a Liver Mush Festival in Marion, where the first 1,500 people in line get free liver mush sandwiches. It's been featured on national TV food shows.
Lucy continues, "But you can believe my dad made sure we had turkey on the Friday after Thanksgiving. I think of all our Thanksgivings, I have the fondest memories of this one."
Special People Dept.
- Victoria Danna Williams, of Metairie, celebrates her 95th birthday Tuesday, Nov. 23. She is a native of Tickfaw.
- Bo and Mary Domingue, of Lafayette, celebrate their 64th anniversary Tuesday, Nov. 23.
A phrase is born
In the Monday column, Nancy C. Van Den Akker mentions Frenchtown Road outside Baton Rouge back in the days when it was a very rural area:
She says, "I recall visiting there as a child, and being intimidated by a sow between me and the outhouse!"
That would seem to me a very good way to describe your efforts to deal with a dilemma: "I was caught between the sow and the outhouse."