Dear Smiley: The days of miracles aren’t over!
I see news of miracles daily.
There are cures for high blood sugar, obesity, hair loss, poor hearing, joint pain, sagging jowls, etc. All are claimed to be miracles.
Most of them are also guaranteed to work or they’re free.
Why haven’t our doctors prescribed these cures? Simple.
As the notices say, “Your doctor doesn’t want you to know about this.”
That must be true, since my doctor hasn’t mentioned any of them.
I understand the doctors not wanting to give up the lucrative practice of treating patients for the diseases, but I am at a loss to understand why health insurance companies haven’t pushed these miracles.
They could save fortunes!
Dear Doug: Maybe you should cut back on your late-night TV watching — and Facebook browsing, too…
Grandad the sucker
Dear Smiley: I am the proud granddad of 7-year-old Elizabeth Grace.
Elizabeth does not live in this area, and I see her far too seldom.
During my fall visit last year, her mother had errands to do and, for the first time, left us alone for a few hours.
It was amazing to see how totally focused Elizabeth was on baby-sitting ME.
We played a card game called UNO, which is similar to Crazy 8.
We played for a couple of hours. Each time she won, she would do a little “shake your booty” dance.
I’ll tell ya, Smiley, I got tired of seeing that dance.
Dear Bill: I just hope you weren’t playing for money…
Dear Smiley: Speaking of old Baton Rouge diners made me think about how young men and women entertained themselves in Baton Rouge before World War II changed their lives.
In 1940, if you wanted a snack or a cup of coffee, you could visit the Tiger Café at 1026 Chimes St., just a couple of doors away from the Dutch Mill.
If you were downtown, Nesom’s Coffee Shop at 714 Main and Royal Café at 570 Main were good choices.
Fox’s Coffee Shop at Third and Convention offered K.C. steaks with that cup of coffee.
For something a bit stronger, you could stop at the Italian Garden at 1103 Convention. (I’m sure you may have sipped a root beer or two there.)
Dining at night may have brought them to Mike and Tony’s on Scenic Highway, or Louie’s Peacock Inn at 2515 Government St. for supper and dancing.
On Friday and Saturday nights, John’s Playhouse, 5 miles out Plank Road, featured dancing to the tunes of the Roseland 6.
And back then, if you wanted to eat crawfish, you had to catch them yourself.
Seafood markets did not sell crawfish at all. It was considered bait to most non-Cajuns.
Bells are ringing
Dear Smiley: While attending church Sunday, when Father Paul held up the host and the altar server rang the bells, a little boy blurted out loud to his mom, “Your phone is ringing.”
The first thing that came to my mind was the gospel song, “Jesus On the Main Line.”
Dear Chuck: Your story reminds me of the time we attended a Catholic wedding in Natchez, Miss., that included a Mass. My dad had dozed off during the long service, and when they rang the bells, he awoke with a start and blurted out, “Huh? What?” This broke up all the congregation around us…
Dear Smiley: Your stories of North Dakota/South Dakota reminded me of this tale:
A man in North Dakota was sitting on his porch when he observed a surveyor on the property next door.
He asked what the man was surveying, and the man said there had been a surveying mistake many years ago and he was attempting to determine the actual state line between North Dakota and South Dakota.
The surveyor told the man that the state line actually ran right through his property and that he could choose which state his property would be in.
The old man thought long and hard and finally replied, “I’ve lived in North Dakota all my life and am soooo tired of these harsh winters, so put my property in South Dakota!”
Dear Smiley: You are the final arbiter of south Louisiana etiquette, so I appeal to you to rule on the proper use of a common grandfather title:
Dear Sam: If it’s said with love by a child to a grandfather, it really doesn’t matter what form it’s in…
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.