Hi gang, I hope every one is enjoying the rest of their weekend. Supper last night was good as usual. Another couple joined us because the place was packed. So we had three couples.

We spent this afternoon with my mother-in-law. Her birthday is Tuesday but we got together today. She will be 87. I could not ask for a better mother-in-law! Again I ate too much! Oh yea of little will power. I am keeping the post short so my wife can do one of the girl’s income taxes. I wont to share this I ran across. I always say something about my granpa. This is about a great, great, great granma. It’s a little long but I think most will enjoy it. For those who don’t I owe you one?


One summer, my small country
town announced it would host
a farmers market every Saturday
on Main Street. Local gardeners were
encouraged to bring produce so they
could profit from their labors.
How exciting! I thought as I eyed my
flourishing raspberry patch.
I called my mom with the thrilling
news of my business venture and told
my three daughters. They rallied me on,
offering to help however they could.
The day before my farmers market
debut, I picked berries.. .and more
berries.., and still more berries. It was
an exceptionally hot summer day and
my shoulders burned. Small scratches
covered my arms and legs from the tall,
thorny branches.
I kept at it for hours, carefully pick-
ing my cash crop so I wouldn’t smash or
bruise them. I stacked them gently in
neatly packaged containers. This is go-
ing to be terrific, I kept telling myself.
An Uneasy Feeling
As the sun set that night and the air
cooled, I sat exhausted in the grass and
gazed at my raspberry patch. Something
wasn’t right.
I stroked our faithful old golden re-
triever and thought of warm July days of
summers before. I recalled picking the
raspberries, and the pleasure it brought
to share them.
Funny.. .before today, I couldn’t re-
call feeling the heat of the burning sun
nor the sting of a raspberry branch
scraping my bare skin. For as long as I
could remember, I’d given berries to my
friends.
When I recalled the wonderful feel-
ing that went hand in hand with giving,
I remembered something my great-
grandmother used to say: “When you
give away one loaf of bread, you get
back two—and I don’t mean bread,
honey.”
Passing on the Message
She spoke those gentle words of wis-
dom to my grandmother, who repeated
them to my mother, and she in turn ten-
derly spoke them to me. This wise ex-
pression simply means that by giving of
ourselves, we are rewarded twofold.
Later that night I made a telephone
call.
“Good evening,” my mom answered
“I can’t do it,” I moaned.

“Can’t do what?” she asked.
“The raspberries, Mom. I can’t sell
them.”
“Ah,” she sighed. “You mean, when
you give away one loaf of bread, you get
back two?”
“Exactly,” I said, relieved that she
understood.
I hung up and went to break the news
to my daughters, who were eagerly an-
ticipating our sale the next morning.
“There will be a slight change in
plans,” I told them. “Be ready to deliv-
er the raspberries in the morning to
friends, but we won’t be selling them.”
“Oh, Mom!” they cried. “Why not?”
“Well, like your great-great-grand-
mother used to say, ‘When you give
away one loaf of bread you get back two
—and I don’t mean bread, honey.’”

Thought for the day, There was no sweeter hug in all the world like mygrama.

Word for the day, clodhopper.