Let’s hear it from the Peanut Gallery: “It’s Howdy Doody time!”

Gee, our old La Salle ran great!

Deuce of Eagan writes: “Subject: The Peanut Gallery.

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“. . . and that’s when I swear I saw Elvis walk across my living room in blue suede shoes.”

Just a coincidence?
Or: There’s a signpost up ahead . . .

Zoo Lou of St. Paul: “There are moments in life that ask: ‘Is it a mere coincidence or something deeper, beyond the understanding of humankind?’

Continue reading ““. . . and that’s when I swear I saw Elvis walk across my living room in blue suede shoes.””

How many summers do you have with your children? Is it ever enough?

The Permanent Motherly/Daughtersly Record

Skatermom of Woodbury: “Subject: 18th summer.

“We have a tradition, the girls and I, of getting into the pool for the last few hours of Labor Day. When we jump in, it’s still summer; when we get out, it’s time to get ready for school the next day. The page has turned.

Continue reading “How many summers do you have with your children? Is it ever enough?”

Here’s how to break an awkward silence on the way up or down.

The discomfort of strangers
Leading to: Today’s helpful hint

The Doryman of Prescott, Wisconsin: “Subject: Taking humor to the next level.

“I ride in elevators several times a day. I use one to get home, even.

Continue reading “Here’s how to break an awkward silence on the way up or down.”

Step right up, for your “potentially gut-churning pickled, spiced, sauced, cheese-covered, and deep-fried whatever”!

The best State Fair in our state!

Ramblin’ Rose writes: “Subject: Food, Glorious Food. [Bulletin Board sings along: Hot Corn Dog With Mustard!]

“In case there was any doubt at all, the State Fair is here. The news anchors and radio personalities seem positively giddy about the prospect of broadcasting for 12 days with a live audience. History shows that even 90-degree heat and humidity won’t wilt their smiles as they showcase blue-ribbon winners and gush over baby animals. And, of course, they have to sample the new foods.

Continue reading “Step right up, for your “potentially gut-churning pickled, spiced, sauced, cheese-covered, and deep-fried whatever”!”

After all of the games over all of the years, there has to be a final game. Alas.

The Permanent Fatherly/Sonly Record

The Divine Mum of Crocus Hill has sent us this update, from her husband: “Subject: Little League Coach’s Diary, Vol. VII, Ch. 1.

“‘I felt what I almost always feel when I am watching a ballgame: Just for those two or three hours, there is really no place I would rather be.’ — Roger Angell, writing in ‘The Summer Game.’ [Bulletin Board can’t help but interject: These days, the great Mr. Angell would have to write “Just for those three or four hours. . . .”]

Continue reading “After all of the games over all of the years, there has to be a final game. Alas.”