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Show CHIT CHAT BY BEA been carried on here in Park City for over 25 years. Let your little ones be the star of the show, modeling his or her special outfit made by mom, sis, aunt, grandma, or perhaps themselves. The articles must be home sewn, ages range from babes in arms thru middle school, or even a 4-H'eVor Home Economics students. The Fashion Show will be ',eld Friday, April 10, 1981 in the Middle School auditorium. auditor-ium. Plan now and lets make this a family affair. The theme this'year is Five Cents for Life. For more information informa-tion and also to register, contact: Myrtle Buck - 649-9534 Jessie McAlevy - 649-9435 Beverly Pace - 649-9583 Bea Kummer - 649-9366 Carolyn Grose - 649-9764 Nan McPolin - 649-9417 Now is the time to mark your calendar for the annual Park City Ladies Luncheon to be held as always the first Saturday in May. It will be May 2, 1981 at the Grubstake in Prospector Square. Start now to get your group or family together for a memorable memor-able day. All ladies who live or have lived in Park City are welcome to attend. Watch this column for more details up to the big day. MEMBER OF THE FAMILY So many things, by their Hospital patients this past week are Fred Fuelling, Clara Shea, Judy Clegg, Elda Winn and Nils Morten-sen, Morten-sen, f I had a surprise visitor . Sautrday night, Peggy Jones, Sweatfield Morten-sen, Morten-sen, former Parkite and now living in Circleville, Utah. Peggy's husband Nils Mor-tenson Mor-tenson has been a heart patient at the Veterans Hospital since February 1. Peggy was amazed at the growth since her last visit, even though it was dark, she felt the impact and hoped before too long she would be able to see it all in the daylight. With Easter coming and new outfits for the occasion, keep in mind the annual Heart Fund Fashion Show. This is an event that has long .usage and familiar . presence became, of a fact, a member of the family. Persons in their own right. Such was the case of the big, round, black, old cast-iron pancake griddle which greeted us every morning of our sprouting years; greeted us even before wc got out of bed with a smokey, wonderful, wonder-ful, delicious aroma, and promises of gustory delight. : Oh, Mama, I can see you now as you were in front of an old kitchen range, in a blue haze, frying pancakes and stacking them on a plate in the warming oven at the top of the stove. Those golden brown towers, soon to be sent into the bottomless pits of eight growing kids. I can see the tiny cakes made by the stray drips of batter, and recall how they tasted -crisp and sweet. I can see the syrup pitcher, filled from a five pound bucket of Karo, which would likely be carried sooner or later as a school lunch bucket, by one of us. But the griddle--it was covered with a patina of black satin, built by the years of daily use. The pancakes never stuck to it, and were always brown and beautiful.. It is sad to think of those breakfasts, how substantial they were, how they stuck with you. Even miles of roadwork getting to school failed to take away that warm, comfortable feeling from beneath our belts. I say it is sad only because the toast and coffee of today is merely a fetish, a bowing to the custom of breakfast. Many years later after I had left home, I came upon the griddle in the back of the house. It was cracked clean through the middle. I had the strange and terrible feeling that one of us had died unbeknownst to the rest of the family and had never had a proper burial, or words said about the good done during life. I am not ashamed to tell that I shed some tears, along with sentimentally, yearning thoughts. Anyhow, that old iron griddle needs to marker, really. Somehow, in a curious way. it has my gratitude and affection. |