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Show TOM FOOLERY Guest Columnist. Mrs. Miriam T. Neilson Other Things and Guttergazing Imperatively the ring of the telephone called me away from an absorbing chapter of "Let Love Come Last; a conversation con-versation ensued and here I sit guest writer oi lorn Foolery," the finest demonstration of which being an invitation in-vitation to me to wield my awkward pen for the column while friend editor lolls at ease at pine-scented Brighton. If, however, my pen becomes, not only awkward but bore-some, bore-some, fall back upon your privelege to turn to a elex page concerning the goings-on round our town. Tom asked for it; here it is. That little breeze, redolent of onions and cinnamon. That just skittered in through the kitchen window and out the front door reminds me that fall is peeking at us round the corner of the house. The calendar tells me September is just next week away. The subdued light on the trees brings back a memory of the first September I spent in Mt. Pleasant. That was a long time ago, so long indeed that 1 now have a life membership in the Mt. Pleasant "Old Times" Club and in a very few years I shall be elegible to be sixth vice-president of the Order of Native Sons. Sitting here, crunching a carrot and planning just when to make my pickled beets ( one of Mt. Pleasants noblest institutions), I recall it was high noon as I stepped off the Sanpete Swift and became a part of what was to become be-come my town. Triumphantly clutching in one hand my newly-earned sheep skin tied with the crimson ribbon of the University of Utah oh, yes, I am a Utah man, sir and lugging an oversized valise in the other, I made my first climb Aip the steep ascent of main street. Like Columbus, I trudged on, and on, and on; then, Excelsior! I dropped limp but victorious into Fanny Miles's best chair. My alma mater had educated me; my victorious ascent had tested and proved that I could take whatever fate might give me. I came to stay a year; I remained to live a life time. And how little I knew on that far off day of joy awaiting await-ing me through the years. Hot and cindery as I was, I liked the town that first day; I "love" it now. I love every old ewe that in the spring time despoils my flower beds, no matter how I may revile the pesky thieves. I love the signature of our town written by every side walk rag weed however much they give me ( kachoo kachoo- pardon me) hayfever. I have a fondness true and sincere for the lush pig weed that reaches out with greedy spines to caress and bring to ruin my nylons. Of course, like dozens of others, I know we should not tolerate them (the weeds, not the nylons) and with dozens of others, "year after year, I ask the question, "Why doesn't "The City", do something about it?" I love the sprawling empty lots and the old gray barns staggering to their knees under the body blows of the passing years. Deploring De-ploring them, knowing that they should not exist in a progressive pro-gressive community like mine and yours, yet I love these very imperfections. Forgetting such things, I think how poor indeed I would be if I could not see through the years the blue haze that veils our eastern hills at twilight, or could never left my eyes to the brilliant reds, and golds, and amethysts on the evening clouds over our western mountains. Just to live day after day under our blue blue skies, "blus as bluebells blue-bells under water" makes me a millionaire. I wish I had originated that description instead of quoting it- it so truly describes the skies that are ours. I shudder to imagine my loss if I had never eaten that Huffy golden concotion of eggs and butter and bread crumbs soaked in milk, those toothsome nuggets, delight- ful to both gourmet and gourmand the Danish Dumplillc Would life have been the same if I had never known I quiet satisfaction of squinching (I hope there is such a word piece of starch cake ever so genlty to see if it sounds li new silk stockings? (I wonder if nylons give that star cake sound. Wait a minute 1 11 see Yeah, they do.) AriJ oh, youth of Mt. Pleasant; don t let the art of making staa cake bequeathed to us by Old Lady Beckstrom and JJt Gunderson, (two grand ladies beloved of our community be lost to us forever. Can one dream of a fairer death tk strangulation on starch cake! Alter tempera, altera mores, other times, other customs I had intended to use my allotted space to speak not of the olden times. To use a teen age expression, I had in tended to write concerning "gutter gazing", that new and delightful custom of today or rather, shall I say, tonight (Please don't debase the custom of saying "gudder gazinV Speak the word trippingly on the tongue, or the lift L lilt of the word "gutter is lost). For years I had yearned to watch from the curb the passing townsfolk as they along Main Street, and for years the other half of my family pointed the nose of the old Ford to west on main, there to park it the livelong evening while bigger better cars guttergazed. I had never known the true and proper name for such entertainment. One day I learned it and over a heaping dish of strawberries and cream, flanked by home made bread, I launched said name in the direction of the other half of my family, who, by the way was behind those heaping strawberries, not I. The very charm of those words, guttergaze, worked a magic and now we join the crowds on main street. If you do not already belong to the '' Gay and Gladsome Guild of Guttergazers take out an in. 1 mediate membership, draw your car along the curb and spend ' a delightful evening: learn to know your bridge cronies 1 minus their cards, make a date with your hair dresser' speak to your banker about an extension on that loan; chat 1 for the first time in months with the neighbor next'door ' change your appointment with your dentist; make arrange ments for an aerial photograph in your back garden(Eeed ' flies, you know): buy a Saturday Evening Post and drink a c bottle of pop; learn for sure whether filet mignon is round s steak in top-hat and tails or a new Hollywood glamour-girl; a finish the afghan by the light of the neons; watch a better f 1 fight than Ezzard (Snooks) Charles and tired Lesrevicl a put on last week: patch up that misunderstanding will v whomever and whatever in short, guttergaze and h s one of our towns quaintest customs. ' ! Because of guttergazing merchants are making their 1 window displays more attractive; from restaurants no longer comes the smell of the lowly onions; now tantalizing, nor tickling mouth watering aromas invite the gazers' to cose i and eat. No longer do we need to cope with slick, hard cones that slip with the greatest of ease to the sidewalk; now u super cones are soft and pycicles intrique. You see, it really I pays to advertize when Main Street from State to 1st west a is a solid bank of gazers. May gazing live long and prosper , Our editor asked for Tomfoolery and I shall beat any- ' one nose length in saying "He sure got it." So now as we s newspaperpeople say, "Thats thirty for tonight,"' and I l was about to add "I'll see you in the gutter." Fearful, how fh ever of offending someone, I will amend it to read " 111 see Bl you at the curb." le tn |