Dear Smiley: I got an infection in my eyes and decided to go to the doctor.
My eyes are very important to me.
Most of the things I enjoy in life either come through my eyes or my mouth.
My doc gave me some eye drops and sent me on my way.
My wife applied them the first couple of times.
She had me lie way back in my recliner and put two drops in each eye.
When it came time for my next dose she was at work, so I put my recliner back, got the little bottle aligned over my eye and squeezed.
It is a lot more effective if you remember to take your glasses off first.
Dear Smiley: When Louis and I attended Grandparents’ Day at St. Aloysius, we had an awakening about our granddaughter Isabelle.
She may NEVER know the smell of a Thanksgiving or Christmas turkey cooking in the oven!
Her essay posted on the wall about “How to cook a turkey, second-grade style,” began with, “First, we get it from Chris’. The size is very big …”
All of us in her family get our holiday turkeys at Chris’ — already cooked, of course!
Her parents, Drs. Jeff and Rachel, are co-owners of Chris’ Specialty Meats in Zachary.
Ms. LeBlanc, Isabelle’s teacher, laughed and said, “I told her to write the essay like she THOUGHT it would be cooked.”
KATHLEEN SONNIER MIER
Dear Smiley: The recent mention of home delivery of milk reminds me of my youth.
Coming from a family of 12 siblings, we had a milk dispenser like you would see in the hamburger and ice cream drive-ins.
The milkman would deliver us milk in a three-gallon box container lined with a plastic bag, much like boxed wine is today.
It would fit into the dispenser machine.
We would put our glass under the spout and lift the lever, and out came the milk.
I think it would have been more economical to own a cow.
Dear Smiley: In the “good old days,” as a teenager in the hinterlands of Atlanta, milk was delivered to our door — by the farmer.
I enjoyed whipping the heavy cream for butter on my toast — made in the coal-fired oven in the kerosene-fired light.
Our water was from the well.
Flood of memories
Dear Smiley: I remember the event in the ’80s mentioned by Cliff Watson (in the Jan. 19 column) — the Great Flood at Michoud.
I awoke one morning to find my house on an island, with both ends of the block under water.
I was stranded.
The next day the rain fell toward the Slidell area, and I made it to work — finding that not only was I the newest NASA employee and the lowest in rank, but the only NASA management team member to make it to work.
On a teleconference with Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Ala., I explained that five more inches of rain were predicted, and it was pitch black outside.
They decided to shut down the facility, as most workers couldn’t get to work.
I notified all concerned and told the cafeteria manager not to cook lunch.
By the time I got home to Metairie, it cleared and there was not a cloud in the sky.
Dear Smiley: As I read your column of Jan. 19, I could tell that letter-writer Cliff Watson was not from the area.
Locals would have called the “crappie’ he mentioned by the name sac-á-lait.
Dear Smiley: The talk about Cherry’s Potato Chips brings back to memory the time my mother, brother, sister and myself lived on North Acadian for a short time in 1970.
One Friday night a Cherry’s Potato Chip truck overturned in our yard.
We thought, “Oh boy, all the Cherry’s chips we can eat!”
And, boy, were we hungry for those chips!
But then we thought, “Oh no, that would be wrong.”
I think about that when I see people take things that don’t belong to them.
Dear Joan: Good for you.
Years ago I reported in the column that others were not so well-behaved when another truck overturned in Baton Rouge.
This one happened to be a beer truck. …
Write Smiley at Smiley@theadvocate.com. He can also be reached by fax at (225) 388-0351 or mail at P.O. Box 588, Baton Rouge, LA 70821.