March arrived like my favorite animal after February’s last few busy, but pleasurable days. We spent a night with two beautiful little ladies. My, the energy and questions they have. Jale shared that Marty, her dad, demonstrated the difference between a raised voice and yelling. She had told him that she didn’t like it when he or Dawn yelled at her and Karis. He told them he would verbalize the difference. He raised his voice and said, “This is a raised voice.” Then he explained, he was going to yell. He did. Jale started giggling and told me, “Daddy was funny!” Marty proceeded by asking if he and Dawn yell at them. Jale meekly said no. We arrived home on Sunday to attend the local community play, “Death by Chocolate.” It was fabulous! Now on to March. Winners of green door prizes on St. Patrick’s Day were Larry and Darlene; yes, she’s back. Anticipation of the center’s 30th anniversary March 24 was running high for some of us, and yours truly was getting nervous. I tried thinking of everything that needed to be done, and plotted the best way to accomplish it all. March 20 was a long day for Jerry and me. We rose early and traveled to Sandstone to attend the celebration funeral of a family friend from my childhood. Jenny went to be with the Lord at the age of 93. She was a special lady in the lives of us Eaton children. Either on or near our birthdays, the woods around our farm were closely watched. The first one to see Jenny emerge from the woods hollered the great news. Jenny didn’t drive (ever), but she walked through the woods three miles one way, carrying a birthday cake for whomever had the birthday. Fortunately, we had spring through fall birthdays. Later, I wondered if she would have shown up on a warm winter day anyway. She and the cake arrived in red during hunting season for my youngest brother’s birthday. Jenny and her seven children lived back in the boonies in a big white house on a hill. She spent a lot of time in prayer for those she loved. For that I am most grateful, as I know her prayers definitely helped me to be the person I am today. After the funeral, we drove to Maple Grove for supper with Marty, and to attend a musical drama that Jale was in. She was in the choir and sang her little heart out. Marty and Dawn couldn’t understand why we and Dawn’s parents attended. They drove six hours and had to leave at 6 a.m. to be in Green Bay for a 60th birthday party. I told them they would never understand grandparents unless the Lord blesses them with their own grandchildren. Now the time came to get all set up for the big anniversary. Extra chairs and tables were moved in. We had to rearrange a lot of things to accommodate the larger crowd and have enough room for the musicians. Two days before the event, I asked for a couple more volunteers. I must have scared some away, as I reminded them a hairnet/cap would have to be worn along with an apron – I had only one taker. Former staff and volunteers were invited. Theresa Zahler, Delores Nystrom and Martin Ashfeld all attended. Vivian Gunnerson Vadner planned to attend, but a flu bug kept her away. The day arrived. It was beautiful, warm, sunny and 65 degrees. I didn’t see any butterflies, but I sure felt them. Thanks to excellent help, tables were decorated and set before diners started arriving. They were greeted by Vi Gillman and Katherine Becker. There was coffee, punch, crackers, and a meat-and-cheese platter donated by Knaus Sausage House. When the food arrived from Maple Lake via Paul Berg, we were ready and went into action. It actually went quite smoothly. Kris O’Brien and six KEYS members attended and spoiled us again with their friendliness while serving and cleaning up. I believe the diners enjoyed reminiscing and “memory making” at the same time. For lack of better words, I have to give my heartfelt thanks to a number of people. To the diners and volunteers, thank you for your support. Without you this program and dining center could not exist. Thank you to Maymie for the special bulletin board, and Sally for the decorations. Thank you, Paul, for delivering the food and assisting in the kitchen. Thanks, also, to Anita and Martin for pitching in wherever needed. Thank you to the KEYS for your monthly visits. Thanks to the Tri-County News and Jean for your support of the program. Publishing pictures and all of our information is greatly appreciated. Thank you to Knaus Sausage House for the meat-and-cheese platter. Thanks to Richard Eckman and friends. You made our 30th anniversary more special with your talents. The music was great, and appreciated by all. Thank you to Pat, our cook, and her assistant, Luann. Both of you do marvelous jobs. Thank you to Catholic Charities for the apples, apple cake and ice cream. After the event was over, I wanted to thank the musicians for performing. Since a few of them had headed outside, I followed them. I noticed a guest leaning against his vehicle, looking upward. He seemed oblivious to his surroundings. As I approached him, I asked if he was meditating. He replied that he was trying to decide if he should take off his long johns. I’ll bet he has by now. I returned to the hot kitchen to attack the final odd jobs and the pile of paperwork. Before starting, though, I called home to check on my honey, who had had one of his sick spells hit suddenly the night before. This was the worst spell Jerry has had. It is part of the myopathy disease that he has. Jerry and I attended a bridal shower March 27. It was a bright spot during what had been a very emotional week for me. I even had a good, hearty laugh, which I needed. I have a sister and sister-in-law who come up with some really fun games for showers. March ended like my favorite … a little lamb. Maybe the old saying is true. I’ll leave you now, with a joke. “A farm boy was drafted. When he wrote his first letter home, he said he missed his mother, his father, his brother and sister, and the little pot his mother put under his bed at night. “His mother wrote back, saying the family missed him too, but not to worry about missing the little pot, as he missed it most of the time when he was home.” ‘Til next time, Rosalea Hoeft,
