We spent the night at that hilltop motel on U. S. 44 near St. Louis, Missouri. The next day my car was delivered back to the motel. They said the carburetor was packed with fibers. They didn't know where they came from. Removed, the car was ready for the trip back home. Since the car was still under warranty, there was no charge.

When I was in charge of my household, when I could get around better, when I was still driving, I tried to keep a well stocked pantry. It was too well stocked according to my daughter, Anne. I didn't shop every week. Once a month was more like it, when I got my Social Security check at the first of the month. Oh, yes we would run out of bread and milk, but that was about it.

The year was 1981. My nephew, Chris Bouldry, had been attending Bible College in Springfield, Missouri. He came home for the Christmas holidays and decided not to return to school. That left one problem. He needed to retrieve his possessions from his room there. The second problem was how to make the trip. He didn't have a car or any money.

The Olive Garden is our favorite restaurant. A few years ago we celebrated my eighty-ninth and half birthday in July. (When you approach ninety, every day is a luxury.) We had an Alfredo dish. My daughter Anne had chicken and I had shrimp. We decided we could make a recipe at home that tasted just as good.

A while back I gave a recipe for ham loaf. There are a couple other things I do with ground cooked ham. One is ham and potato cakes. The other is Ham Patties with Sour Cream. Why am I offering them now?

The year was 1942. The place was Junior High School. I was in the ninth grade. There was another English teacher giving me fits. She had the painful habit of poking her forefinger in that depression at the base of your neck. You know, where your collarbones meet in the middle.

I have been hungry for cookies lately. Today I broke down and made some. They were from an old cookbook I found somewhere or other. What a disappointment. I have many tried and true recipes that turn out fine every time. Why, oh why, do I continue looking for new ones. Anne reminds me of that fact every time I have a cooking disaster.

It's that time of year again: “Easter Egg Time.” What do you do with all of those colored hard boiled eggs?

I remember when my kids were of Easter basket age. After the drabness of winter (it had been a long time since Christmas), they needed some cheering up. With no birthdays since December, there had been little to celebrate. They were ready!

I remember when I was a teenager. We lived on a farm. World War ll was in full swing. It seemed that anything good was rationed, but chicken and eggs were not. Mother always raised chickens, even when we lived in town. But to sell eggs and have meat to eat took a larger number of chickens. Of course, she could let some of the hens “set.” They would be out of egg production for the duration of incubating their eggs into baby chicks and beyond. It was more profitable to buy baby chicks in the Spring.

Who mows your lawn nowadays? You probably don't. A whole new business has grown up around grass and the need to manicure the lawn. Everyone works nowadays. There are enough “honey do” chores for Saturdays without spending several hours doing lawn care.