Updates -

Sledding with Grandpa Beaver
Jayce Chap goes sledding with Grandpa Beaver

Thanks, Grandpa Beaver, for taking us sledding! It was lots of fun, even though it was pretty cold out. It was fun getting a ride back up the long hill on the snowmobile, too.

Caity and Jayce Chap
Ashby, MN

UPDATE -- wedding plans
by Heidi Johnson
Albuquerque, NM

We had a bit of a January thaw a week ago, but winter is back. Sunday we got snowed in, and couldn't make it to morning meeting. It sure was exciting, until the snowplow came through!

Well, Ryan and I decided on August 6th for our wedding. Of course it will be at Mom and Dad's house. The plans are all falling into place pretty well. Last weekend I was home for three days to go dress shopping. I found my dress and the bridesmaids' dresses, as well. It was super exciting to say the least!

Work is going well. We are finally getting our spring inventory in, and that's always fun! We still have our semi-annual sale going on (50% off the last marked sale price and $19.99 sweaters -- for any of you bargain hunters!). So hopefully we will get rid of all the last remnants of the winter season! That's about it, though, when it comes to work.

Ryan is glad that the Christmas season is over, because it makes his job a whole lot easier. He got called for jury duty. He thinks that it has potential to be interesting. We'll see.

Well, I guess that's all the news that I have for you. Life isn't all that interesting here in the southwest.


UPDATE -- an introduction...
by The Editor (Lori's grandma)

Although I've not had the privilege yet of meeting my granddaughter Lori Chap's new friend, I would like to introduce him to all of you. His name is Shawn Michael Ostendorf, 31 years old, originally from Maple Grove and currently owns a home in Rogers. Lori was introduced to him through a friend of hers and a co-worker of Shawn's, Jennifer Finkelson (distant relation to Jolene Johnson). He works for Pro Staff Finance and Accounting in Minneapolis and also coaches a sixth grade girls' traveling basketball team in his spare time. He graduated from the University of Minnesota and loves sports, which will go over well with our other guys!

He and Lori have been dating for just over three weeks now, which may sound short to some of you, but have made a connection unlike any other she's had, so she sounds very happy and excited about their coming time together! Shawn has gotten along with Lori's friends and relatives he's met and Lori has met his parents and some of his friends and liked all of them. Therefore, I figured I'd best get about introducing him to our clan!

Shawn and Lori
Shawn Ostendorf & Lori Chap

UPDATE -- from Europe
by Frans de Been
Oosterhout, The Netherlands

You have your winter time in the USA; we have it also here in Europe. Not in the Netherlands, but still at the Lake of Geneva they have! Take a look at those pictures and see what winter cold and water can do!!!!


UPDATE -- Letter from Iraq (Part 1 of 3)

Editor's Note: Jim Pachan is a friend of the family -- especially of his three buddies: Eric Anderson, Wyatt Johnson, and Weston Johnson. He is a Sergeant in the U.S. Army, 42nd Infantry Division. Last week's letter was written from Camp Buehring, Kuwait, just before they moved on to a new post, Forward Operations Base (Camp) Speicher, near Tikrit, Iraq, in a three-day overland convoy of 522 miles. It's long for one issue, but just right for three; this is Day 1.

We completed the most dreaded task and got through without any major incidents. The convoy was long and stressful, but pretty cool in a weird sort of way. Below is a chronicle of the three-day, 522-mile journey from Camp Buehring, Kuwait, to Camp Speicher, Iraq. (While in Kuwait, our vehicles were all up-armored to the level that all military vehicles must have in order to travel "in theatre." Some had less, but at least the minimum.)

January 19, 2005

Today is the big day; we had a little pep talk briefing from the Battalion Commander last evening and some other briefing about starting points (SP), routes, rules of engagement, etc. We had to be at the vehicles at 0700 (7 a.m.) to load our bags and get issued ammo, Combat Lifesaver bags (first aid) and Night Vision Goggles (NVGs).

We moved our vehicles to the final staging area; I am to be in the 7th vehicle (of 16) in the 14th clip. (We travel in groups of fewer than 20 vehicles to avoid getting bunched up in case of attacks or breakdowns.) A two-star General, the division commander, visited us prior to taking off.

At around 5 p.m. we pushed off, driving into a beautiful pink and orange sunset, the first that I had witnessed in Kuwait. The first 10-mile stretch of road out of Camp Buehring was one of the most spine-busting, bumpy roads I've ever been on; there was actually a dip so deep that tractor-trailers bottom scraped a little.

After that it was smooth sailing through 55 miles of bare desert to FOB Navistar, which is right on the Kuwait/Iraq border. (FOB is Forward Operation Base.) We refueled there and slept for a few hours in our trucks. Starting Point (departure time) was supposed to be at 0800 (8 a.m. the next morning). But in the past several weeks, there have been small arms attacks just over the border, and also children running up to the convoys and begging; to get around that, we decided to go overnight, while they were sleeping. (To be continued)

Jim Pachan in Battle Rattle
Jim Pachan, pictured "in full Battle Rattle."

STUDENT UPDATE -- Senior Profile
by Brandon Hellevang
Fargo, ND

I have finally figured it out. It feels so good to finally know what I'm doing next year, and now that I've got it all figured out, I guess it's time to share.

My name is Brandon Hellevang. I am a grand-nephew of Don and Dorothy Anderson. My Grandma Mavis Morgan is Don Anderson's sister. My mom is Merna (Morgan) Hellevang.

I am currently a senior at Fargo North High School in grand old Fargo, ND. I am really enjoying my last year of high school. To be honest, I wouldn't mind another year, which I guess is kind of odd. I played football and soccer in the fall and now during the winter I have been focusing on making that "college choice" and watching my classmates compete in various winter sports. I have really enjoyed getting to know some of the kids better that I didn't know as well before this year. I figure it's a good time to do this with four months left of seeing these people.

I was selected to be on the homecoming court in the fall which was really a fun experience. I completed my Eagle Scout requirements last fall and had my Eagle Court of Honor in October. I currently am volunteering with the D.A.R.E. program as a role model talking to fifth graders about drugs and violence in junior high and high school. I sing bass in Concert Choir and Men's Choir at school.

This past week and a half have been rough. I had to make a choice of where I was going to spend the next five years of my life and I guess it affects me for the rest of my life, they say. Well after a couple sleepless nights, and with the deadline fast approaching, I decided that the University of North Dakota was the college for me. I was really impressed with the school and the people up there in “the other city in North Dakota.”

I also had the added pleasure of choosing between two great football programs to kick for: UND and NDSU. The choice was even more difficult with NDSU being D-1AA in athletics. I ended up feeling more comfortable with the situation and the coaches at UND, which helped me call the coach at UND last Tuesday night to let him know that I would love to be a "Fighting Sioux" next year.

Also in that decision, I needed to figure out what I was going to do for the rest of my life, minor details really. After almost ruling out any sort of business major in favor of engineering, I went back and read through the majors offered. One particularly stuck out to me: Economics. I loved the class in high school and after some research, decided that was it. So there it is, I will be attending UND in Grand Forks, ND next year, majoring in economics.

He will kick for UND Brandon Hellevang, Senior
Brandon Hellevang makes plans to join the UND "fighting Sioux."

Day to Day R
With Donna Mae
Ashby, MN

Halftime at the Game
Ashby Arrows Girls' Basketball

Beaver and I took Caity and two of our day care girls, Kerstyn and Jackie, in to school last night, so Caity could cheer during the halftime at the girls basketball game. Linda Knutson, Dave, Becky and Jayce also joined us to watch Caity and her classmates do their cheers. It was a good game. The girls were behind during the first part of the game, then it was a back and forth struggle; finally, the Ashby Arrows girls' team pulled it out with a win!

Cheering certificates Caity and friends cheering
Meredith Turner, Jeanette Evavold, and Caity Chap, left; Caity and friends cheerleading during halftime at an Ashby Arrows girls' basketball game, right.

The Matriarch Speaks W
by Dorothy (Dake) Anderson
Alexandria, MN

Starting with Bulletin 124, I planned to run biographical sketches of the members of our staff. Now that this has been done, I want to run sketches and pictures of the readers and subscribers who have not already done introductions. Please tell us about yourself. What is your work and what else do you do with your time? How are you related or what friend introduced you into the family? I am hoping that you can share family photos and background sketches. Send all manuscripts and pictures to me at dma49261@juno.com

Great Uncle Curtis, Grandma Mellon
Great Uncle Curtis & Grandma Mellon

This is a collection of vignettes of my Grandma Mellon, as seen through the long ago eyes of her 12-year-old granddaughter, Dorothy -- Part Two

This was really a great day for me... Now I know Grandma Mellon is proud of me. This has been a perfect day. I met my Great Uncle Curtis Doyle, and what a gentleman! He is Grandma's baby brother -- of course that is just a figure of speech, as he is quite an old man.

Anyway, this is why it has been a perfect day and she is proud of me. I was home alone and my grandparents brought Uncle Curtis to meet our family and to check the countryside out. I didn't panic, just took them around to see the garden, the chickens, and out back to see the field, which is looking great.

And then I cut the cake I had baked and served it up with some fresh peaches and a cup of coffee from the big pot where I had made egg coffee for them. Well, it all went nicely and the folks came home in time to have lunch with us. I heard Grandma tell my Mom, "Dorothy was really a nice hostess, you can be proud of her." Isn't that great!


My Mom told me a story about how Grandma Mellon broke up a fist fight. I really can hardly believe this, but I know my Mom doesn't lie and so I guess it is true, all right.

She says that when Uncle Everett grew up and was in high school he really hated farming. He wasn't afraid to tell his Dad his opinion. So when Grandpa told him he had to stay home from a game and help milk the cows, he rebelled. Words got hot between those two Irish men. Pretty soon Grandpa pushed Everett -- and he fell down and came up with fists flying.

Then out from the house came Grandma, and Mom behind her, to see what all the hollering was about. Mom said Grandma just scooted right out there and got a hand on two chests and gave a shove. She took care of them in no time. I guess Grandma is something to behold when she gets mad. (I've never seen her mad!)

The funny part is now that Uncle Everett left the farm and got a job at Greyhound, and Grandpa moved to Waverly and tends store, those two men of Grandma's get along just great!!


Last winter was a wonderful new experience for Grandma Mellon. Grandpa is now Senator Mellon. So in the winter, while the Senate was in session, Grandma and Grandpa moved into a furnished apartment in St. Paul. Now Grandma gets to go out to eat! It is kind of funny about that! She had never been to a restaurant until this winter, but she surely enjoys the thought of having someone else cook!

And this winter it has been so cold walking around to see things that Grandma finally talked Grandpa into going shopping with her. I will say I don't know another kid that has a Grandma who wears a MINK coat.

I have to laugh because Dad says you would almost think Grandpa would get to doing what some of the other officials do -- selling his vote -- but he (Dad, that is) says that when Grandpa makes up his mind what is right, then nobody could buy him off (and then Dad says ... that's because Grandpa is so stubborn!).

You know something? Grandpa is friends with a man called Mr. Townsend. I think they really have some "far out" ideas. They think that it should be a law that when anyone is old enough to retire they should be given -- get this -- two hundred dollars a month. They think it would stimulate the economy! Wow, that sounds like a "pipe dream" to me -- and that is what Grandma says, too.


After my grandma got home from the Senate this spring, she went for her checkup with Dr. Roholt. (He is my doctor, too.) He told her that her blood pressure is far too high. He thinks she needs to diet. She is plump, but all that lovely eating she did last winter really wasn't good, and now she is a little more than plump.

So, because she takes pills that are hard on her system, she has to have bananas to put back some of the stuff they take out.. So the doctor told her, "Why don't you just eat bananas and drink milk and skip eating anything else? -- and come back in a week."

Now you might think that would be bad news ... to have to drink milk and eat bananas... I would hate it! I sure don't like milk and am not very fond of bananas, either! But Grandma isn't me -- she loves milk and she loves bananas. So I guess the doctor is going to have to think of something else ... because when she went back, she had gained two more pounds! I love Grandma and I don't want her to have high blood pressure, but I hope she won't have to starve on the next diet!

LTD Storybrooke

Bullhauler: First Load
Part 2 of 2
By Larry Dake

I had just unloaded my first load of livestock at the South Saint Paul Stockyards. I gathered my receipts and was on my way to find the truck "washout." It was well past midnight.

I drove past many empty pens, a testament to the fact that at one time this had been the largest stockyard in the world.

I turned off Concord Street onto Armour Street. As I drove down Armour Street, a blackened brick, and rusting steel, structure loomed large. A faded, iron sign roosted high overhead proclaiming: Armour and Company. Darkened, since it closed its doors in 1979, the empty meat packing plant occupied several city blocks. It had an imposing, ghostly air.

I drove nearer the Mississippi River, and Pigs Eye Island, beyond. At the end of a dark street was the brightly lit truck washout. Several stock trucks were lined up waiting to get in ahead of me. I would become a regular visitor here. The washout was a business that evolved to serve a unique segment of the trucking industry: the Bullhaulers.

Bullhaulers were truckers who picked up small numbers of livestock, namely: cows, pigs and sheep; at various farms back in the area where the Bullhauler lived. Farmers would telephone when they had animals to ship, and the Bullhauler would go around to each farm and gather enough livestock for a full load -- hopefully. Once loaded, he would head for South St. Paul in as short a time as possible, to get the animals unloaded as soon as possible.

At the stockyards the livestock would be auctioned off to various buyers. Most would be sold to modern packing houses or feedlots. Many would be loaded on triple deck, aluminum, pot-bellied trailers, pulled by high powered, conventional, diesel semi-tractors with sleeping berths and names like Peterbilt and Kenworth. These trucks, fondly called "pots," carried only full loads of like kinds of livestock. They typically made long hauls to distant modernized packing houses, or to feedlots. They did not pick up livestock from small farms. They did not haul freight. They were not Bullhaulers!

Bullhaulers were a breed apart.

After unloading, as I had just done, the Bullhauler would wash out his trailer to prepare for picking up freight. The freight would be delivered to businesses back in the area the Bullhauler was from. This prevented the Bullhauler from deadheading home with an empty truck. The freight going back was widely varied and would be picked up from many locations around the metropolitan area.

My boss had a sizable business of hauling booze -- so my truck had to be clean! Manure tainted boxes of booze were not good for business!

When the truck ahead of me pulled out of the wash bay, I pulled in. It was evident this was no ordinary truck wash. First, the price. If I remember correctly, it was twenty-five dollars. The washout hose was essentially a fire hose. When I opened the valve, I had to brace myself and hold on tight. Cold water and manure splashed and sprayed everywhere, including all over me

After a few washouts, I would learn some technique and wear a rain suit! But this first night was a drenching experience! It seemed the jet of water served only to splatter the manure around from one place to another. It took a considerable length of time to get the truck clean -- and copious amounts of cold water!

When I pulled out of the wash bay I was covered with manure, soaked to the skin, cold, hungry, tired -- and disturbed about the treatment of the animals.

I had driving instructions to find a certain bar just off Concord Street, not far from where I had unloaded the livestock.

I was to enter a side door to the bar and inquire about a bed. Livestock trucks lined the street outside the bar and filled the parking lot! Parking spaces were at a premium. I managed to get my rig off the street about a block away. Carrying a brown paper sack of dry clothes under my arm, I walked past stock trucks from all over Minnesota and Wisconsin.

It was well past closing time, but the side door was open, as promised. There was a second locked door inside, with a window. I knocked on the door and the bartender came over and unlocked for me.

I hoped to find something to eat. The best the bartender could come up with was a glass of orange juice and some beer nuts. So I sat at the mostly empty bar, on the stool nearest the door, and had my beer nuts and orange juice.

A couple other truckers were sitting farther down, visiting over drinks. It was an old tavern with a high, tin-covered ceiling. No doubt, it dated back to the days when more than 10,000 stockyard workers and meat packers worked nearby. Some would have gathered here to mingle. Many were immigrants from Yugoslavia. They would have crowded along this bar, and around these tables, to discuss the finger lost in the meat grinder, or the possibilities of the UFCW Local 4-C participating in a nationwide strike.

When I finished up my orange juice, the bartender gave me directions to my room. I climbed the long stairway. At the top of the stairs was a large, dark, open hallway -- full of snoring Bullhaulers!

There were beds everywhere, with only room to walk between them. There was a light at the end of the hallway where the communal bathroom was located. I checked out the dingy facilities and changed into my dry clothes. The single shower was pretty gross -- using it was out of the question. I wandered back through the menagerie of beds and snoring Bullhaulers to find my room.

The room was large enough for two single beds, with walking space between. The occupant in the other bed was wearing overalls. He asked, "Are you sure you have the right bed? There's usually another guy sleeps here."

"I'm the new driver," I said. "He got run over by a cow and hurt his back."

"Oh, horse feathers!" he said. "That's too bad!"

I took his cue -- and slept in my overalls.

In a few hours he rolled out, laced up his boots, and left to get an early start on his day. It was still dark.

Before he left, he said, "You'll have to be out of here by eight because your boss split the rent for the bed with another guy. The other guy usually comes in at eight, eight thirty, or so -- after he's had breakfast. He sleeps for a couple hours before he heads out for freight."

I rolled over for a few more winks.

At around 6 a.m. I jumped up and stumbled down the stairs. I noticed the beds were almost all empty. I sprinted past the empty parking lot to my truck.

In the truck I crossed Concord Street and stopped in front of the Central Livestock offices. They were housed in a modern brick building. Inside, I picked up a stack of handwritten notes from a small office. The notes listed all the places I was to pick up freight that day. I called my boss on a watts line, and jotted down driving instructions to the various locations.

Slightly dazed, I got back on Concord Street and drove toward the Interstate. There were a lot of "pots" parked around a restaurant there, so I parked next to the big rigs and went in and had a stack of pancakes smothered with peanut butter and syrup.

After breakfast I put the plywood side panels on the truck to protect the freight from the elements. The panels were stowed on a rack under the trailer. Each was two feet wide and eight feet high. They slid into place on the outside of the trailer and were held in place with a latch.

Back in the cab I looked over my notes and reviewed the day ahead of me. I would pick up rolls of woven wire fencing almost next door, sheets of quarter inch steel in northeast Minneapolis, barrels of industrial cleaning fluid in Apple Valley, many boxes of booze from several downtown locations, aluminum machine parts from a small foundry in Blaine, and a half a truckload of hardware store merchandise from a warehouse -- somewhere.

Fully loaded, I would then make the three-and-a-half-hour drive home.

After a second cup of coffee, I was on my way. I picked up the fencing rolls just down the street. Then I went back down to I-494 and eased my faded, red and white, single axle, gasoline powered IH Loadstar tractor, and rickety old livestock trailer, out into rush hour traffic.

It would be a long day before I'd get some sleep in my own bed.

The following morning I would deliver the freight around our home town while my boss gathered another load of livestock at the NFO loading facility.

We would load the livestock onto my truck that evening and I would be back on the road to do it all over again.

Travelogue t

The Bolivian Beat
By Kjirsten Swenson

Editor's Note: Kjirsten has returned to Bolivia for a second year of independent study in Morochata, prior to enrollment in medical school at Baylor University in Houston, fall semester 2005. She went trekking in Argentina with her parents, Sheldon and Mitzi (Johnson) Swenson, the first week of January. Her mom is guest reporter this week.

Refugio at end of the lake.
This refugio seems to be constructed from cut rock, likely from this area.
(not very pretty but beats carrying a tent)

Atmospheric Weather

We left Bariloche on an early bus last Thursday for Mt. Tronador. Arriving just before noon, we obtained a permit for Refugio Meiling, about six miles and 3,500 feet up, to the glacier level on the mountain. We rode a chairlift and started hiking at the top yesterday, but dropped into the refugio for the night. Kjristen cooked good pasta sauce with vegetables. Today was up, down, up, down, about 15 miles and we're tired! Tomorrow we're off to Mt. Tronador, but it looks rainy, so don't know exactly what we'll hike.

As Kjirsten would say, the weather was atmospheric, meaning within minutes we experienced sun, wind, mist, rain, a rainbow, sleet and snow -- a wizard blizzard about the last two miles. However it's her policy not to be dismayed over weather, so we trudged on and up, arriving cold and wet.

For a couple of dollars we could use their stove. We ate our typical dinner of Knorr tomato soup, followed by the best backpacking meal we've ever made: linguine with mushrooms, sautéed in butter we didn't use at breakfast, with parmesan cheese.

With full tummies, we went upstairs to our sleeping bags, on mattresses shoulder to shoulder with 60 people! One would expect some snoring, so we all put in ear plugs and slept well. In the morning, a young, slim man was snoring like I've never heard before, providing morning humor for everyone as they woke up.

The weather was miserable outside, as we were enveloped in a cloud that sometimes spilled rain, so we spent the day indoors drinking hot chocolate, watching the groups leave and the staff quickly clean up the place. (Imagine 65 people using frozen toilets.) The cook baked homemade bread -- 10 loaves; you should have seen his arms!

After our regular lunch of bread, cheese, tomatoes, avocado, cucumber and carrots (we ate the same thing for seven days straight), we watched the next people come in, wet and cold...

Dinner that night was lamb cooked about three hours in a vegetable and tomato sauce over pasta, fork tender, with the delicious bread we had watched and smelled. That night only about 50 stayed overnight and there was no snoring and the toilets didn't freeze.

We descended in nice weather and ate at the $50 per night place and stayed at the $5 per night place.

Mitzi Swenson
(Kjirsten's Mom)

Mitzi, Sheldon Kjirsten leads the way
Sheldon & Mitzi Swenson, left; Kjirsten leads the way, right.

This is a story my longtime colleague Earl L. Brown read to me over the phone the other night ... about the most recent adventure of his mom -- a grandmother 10 times so far, but no great grandchildren yet. It seemed perfectly suited and timed to this issue of The Bulletin. -- Jerrianne

The Subzero Samaritan C
© Earl L. Brown
Fort Nelson, BC, Canada

January. Cold.

Way too cold!

Mercury cowering at -45C (-49F). Ice fog devouring anything more than 60 feet away.

It's said that if you ever see a raven and a husky cuddling together for warmth ... it's too cold, and that's how cold it was.

After an evening college course, Mother was driving a friend home the five miles out of town, across the Muskwa River to the residential area on the other side.

It's common for many vehicle-less travelers to thumb a ride between Fort Nelson and their homes on the other side of the river.

This wretched night, at the edge of town and to the side of the road, stood a motionless soul, dressed in red, too cold even to extend a hand with pleading, upturned thumb to hail a ride. And then ... vanished into the enveloping, ever-present fog.

Compassionate, but by no means a habitual hitchhiker picker upper, Mom turned to her companion, and without words, both knew that the only civil thing to do was to offer a ride on this brutal evening.

By now, they were at the crest of the hill and had no chance to turn around. So across the river they went, drove up the other side, and stopped at the first side road at the top of the hill. Good conscience demanded a return to the near frozen stranger, and the safe transport to their own home. Good conscience could not be disobeyed.

Back down the hill, across the river and up the other side they went ... eyes straining to find their quest in these miserable conditions.

"There!" In fact, it seemed no stirring had taken place from where it had been seen some minutes ago.

A rolled down window, a blast of arctic air, and an unanswered call to the stranger.

And then -- realization, relief, and laughter.

Mother's compassion had been extended toward a snow-clad fire hydrant.

I'm proud to have a mom like that.

This and That
by Elaine Wold
Wahpeton, ND

This is the song Mom used to sing when my brothers were little. Someone had asked to locate the words. (I have seen it also written as "little girl.")

That Little Boy of Mine
Author Unknown
(from the 1920s)

Who cares for fame or fortune?
Who cares for wealth or gold?
Because I find a fortune
Within my arms to hold.

A tiny turned up nose
Two cheeks just like a rose
So sweet from head to toes
That little boy of mine.
Two arms that hold me tight
Two eyes that shine so bright
Two lips that kiss goodnight
That little boy of mine.

No one will ever know
Just what his coming has meant
Because I love him so
He's something heaven has sent.
He's all the world to me
He climbs upon my knee
To me he'll always be
That little boy of mine.

And when he lays his head
Upon his pillow so white
I pray the Lord above
To guide him safe through the night
In dreams I see his face
And feel his fond embrace
There's no one can replace
That little boy of mine.

Celebrations & Observances
From the Files of
Hetty Hooper

This Week's Special Days:
February 8-14---National Salute to Hospitalized Veterans
February 12---Abraham Lincoln's Birthday

This Week's Birthdays:

February 6---Melody Printz
February 6---Kelli Jo Mellon (6 years old)
February 7---Rylie Johnson (3 years old)
Happy Birthday!

More February Birthdays:
February 1---Kathlyn (Johnson) Anderson
February 4---Cameron Birkholz

February 28---Eric Anderson

February Anniversaries
February 26---Tim and Char (Morgan) Myron (22 years)
February 28---Junior and Doris Anderson (43 years)

February Special Days
February 2---Groundhog Day

February 14---Valentine's Day
February 21---Presidents' Day
February 22---George Washington's Birthday

Miss Hetty's Mailbox:

Not sure if you've got it in your calendar or not, but I didn't see it on the February birthday calendar. Rylie's birthday is coming up on February 7. We've got plans to visit Chuckie Cheese with some friends who have kids Rylie's age. Should be lots of fun!


*Sorry we missed your birthday announcement last week, Rylie! Fortunately, we didn't miss it this week. Happy birthday!

I have a Classified ad to run in The Bulletin, if you would.

I need a professionally trained videographer who would like to share their talent for a high price to video a wedding on August 6, 2005. Actually, anyone with a video camera who wants to get fed and help me out a bit would work, too. I would like a video to show at the reception that we will have here in New Mexico after the wedding, and I can't really do it myself. :) So if that is something you might like to do, just let me know. Letting me know through The Bulletin would be great, or you can e-mail me at Heig_02@yahoo.com

Thanks a bundle!


Miss Hetty Says

To Our Readers:

Have you been cruising the Archives lately? If you have, you probably noticed that the February 2003 and some March 2003 issues are now on line and readable, though they don't have any fancy formatting yet ... and that the February 2003 and January 2005 issues are now fully searchable, though the March 2003 and February 2005 are NOT searchable yet. That is because Miss Jerrianne can only dispatch the free search spider to index them once a month and we're not ready to do that for this month yet. But like they say, "Keep tuned in and we will let you in on the latest!"

Keep Us Posted!

Please drop Miss Hetty a line and tell us who, and what, we've missed. And how about a report (photos welcome) of YOUR special celebration?

'Many Thankse

Miss Hetty


Doug and Larry in the same Bulletin equals some good reading! Thanks guys, I so enjoy your stories ... keep up the good work! They both made me laugh! (Glad you didn't get hurt, little brother!) It was fun reading about Mitzi's adventures, too; sounds like plenty of walking ... yes, I'd guess a person could eat ice cream every day that way! Sorry to hear about your loss, Elaine. :-) Interesting reading about Kurt's days, too; hope we can hear more from him.
Donna Johnson
Ashby, MN

It's great to see The Danger Rangers back! We kept hoping that Doug would give us more of those stories. I was talking on the phone to Heidi today and she said to say that she loves Doug's Danger Ranger stories.

Every week I cross my fingers and hope that Larry doesn't just decide to quit writing, too. I'm thinking that it's hard for writers to be convinced that their writing is really enjoyed and appreciated. It is!

Marlene Johnson
Long Lake, MN

Another thoroughly enjoyable Bulletin! Barb's anecdote was hilarious. I think it would be fun if she had a humor column.

Larry's stories are fun to read. I wish he would write about the experiences of the older clan -- Genelle and Shari and that crowd. We were never allowed to hang out with them. I wonder what went on?

It was interesting to read about Kurt's experiences related to tsunami relief. What a wonderful thing our armed forces are doing for those people! I wonder if the European countries even notice; they tend to vilify every thing we do.

I was saddened to hear of my Auntie's loss; are there any services planned?

I still think you should give a score update on your Scrabble games every issue -- written like sports copy -- that would be hilarious!

Thanks for the memories!


I really enjoy The Bulletin and will try to get something off to you that you can use. Enjoy most (some of the people I don't know) but glad to be part of the "family." Of course, we have ALWAYS been family for the past 75 years ... the Dake "kids" and Miller "kids" had a most wonderful time together!

I have some pictures of your Mom in the nursing home in Howard Lake and one is with Lou, so will send to you and maybe they will end up in The Bulletin... All for now and will do better later.

Tom Miller
Madera, CA

I saw you put a note from Jim Pachan in the last Bulletin. Here’s another note he sent a week ago, with a picture of him in his “battle rattle.” Hopefully everyone else enjoys reading this; it makes it a lot more interesting for me, actually having a good friend involved.

Wyatt Johnson
Moorhead, MN

Good grief, Mitzi, why are you eating such little ice cream cones in The Bulletin picture? You don't have ice cream with every meal? Not even every day? Don't you remember our childhood, when ice cream was considered a basic food group? When we sat around the dining room table after Sunday dinner with a gallon jug of A&W root beer and a 2-1/2 gallon container of ice cream? We have let you stray too far from your roots, I think!

Doug's story reminded me of the times my brother and I would set up a board on a hay bale. We took turns riding our bikes up the board, and down the other side when our weight tipped the board down. We progressed to using a very narrow board, and then to putting one board each way on the bale, and riding over it simultaneously, meeting above the hay bale. Nobody ever got hurt very badly. Bumps, bruises, and minor bleeding don't count!

Our sewer was in the thick woods, so we didn't get to try jumping the ditch where the water came out, but we would have thought it was a swell idea! We did play with toy wind-up, paddlewheel boats in a little brown creek one spring day. Our mother was a little undone by the fact that this little creek happened to be flowing from the melting manure pack in the cattle yard.

Beaver Johnson
Ashby, MN

I do enjoy The Bulletin. I really liked reading about your Scrabble games. You really have done some wonderful moves and kept such good record of the plays for all these years. I say if you are having fun -- go for it.

Mavis (Anderson) Morgan
Estero, FL

I had a virus in my computer again and was unable to use it for some days. Today a friend came and installed everything again and now all seems to be fixed again. This is the third time it happened and hope it will be the last time. It takes much time to repair it. Also installed the best protections for viruses and think I'm protected well.

Here all is fine; I will do my best to send you the pictures for The Bulletin with a new article.

Days are getting longer and no winter at all at the moment.

Greetings from the Netherlands,

Ary Ommert, Jr.
Maassluis, The Netherlands

Thought I would send this news clipping to you as part of my "workup" for you. Have some pictures that we took at Mom's birthday party the other day. Will try to forward those soon and then get my "resume" to ya.

Stan Dake
McGregor, TX

Great! The accompanying news clip and photo from the Temple Daily Telegram described the Central Texas Sportsman's Club Jamboree in Temple, Texas, this weekend. Stan, "well known in Central Texas for his vocal ability," is the featured performer for this month's jamboree. He will be singing traditional country music, with his daughter Andrea Dake-Mendez, in an evening of family entertainment. (Stan's real good looking, too, as you'll see when we get pictures to share.) -- The Editors.


Working at a theater box-office ticket window poses many challenges in dealing with people.

A disgruntled customer at a window exclaimed, "No Tickets?" What do you mean NO TICKETS?"

The woman waiting on him smiled sweetly. "I'm terribly sorry, sir," she replied. "Which word didn't you understand?"

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QUOTATION FOR THE DAY: Nothing lowers the level of conversation more than raising the voice. --Stanley Horowitz

EDITOR'S POLICY: If you wish to subscribe to The Bulletin, simply send me a statement of that fact. If you wish to keep receiving it I hope you will contribute to one of the columns that are running in this family epistle (at least occasionally!). My e-mail address is dma49261@juno.com

This Bulletin is copyright Dorothy M. Anderson; the contents are also copyrighted by the authors and photographers and used with their permission, and the contents are not to be used for any commercial purposes without the explicit consent of the creators.