dona's 365

Mr. Jordan was my best friend’s dad. After Cindy and I lost contact, Mr. Jordan and I continued to write each other at Christmastime. He kept me up to date about Cindy and her family. The last letter I ever got from him he was optimistic about his prostate cancer.

When Mrs. Wewell, our next-door neighbor, said I should pray for her instead of the soldiers in Vietnam, I complied. The next day she caught her arm in the wringer of her old wringer-washer. When I tried it again, a car ran over her dog. I quit praying after that.

Butch owned the B & B Bar in Chetek, Wisconsin and was my first real crush. I was ten and bored with the bar and its jukebox, pop and donut-shaped ice cubes. Butch talked to me to keep me from annoying my parents too much. Their drinking paid his rent.