211231, Sentinel, New Years Eve.

This story happened in 1968.

As I sit here writing this I am listening to “The Best of Scottish Pipes and Drums.” Joyce despised it, but I like it. Give me the pipes and drums to listen to, put a beer in my hand and I am ready to write. It inspires and works for me. Every writer has his or her music to listen to when writing,

This picture was mom and dad's annual date on New Year's Eve.

Dad and I had been working on cars in his garage, listening to the radio and drinking some beer most of day. Mom had made supper and afterward dad decided we needed to go out for New Year’s Eve. Joyce and her mother were there at dad’s house with us. He and I cleaned up and we packed up to head to town. We had a great time bar hopping throughout the evening. It was fun being with so many different people all celebrating. We had fun doing something we rarely did. After midnight, dad decided we needed something to eat. Mom said there’s nowhere we could get into without an earlier reservation, but dad was not to be deterred. He gave me directions to a place in town and I drove over to the restaurant. We got out of the car and went inside. The lobby was packed with people who had reservations. The ladies and I thought this was a bad idea, but dad had a plan. He delivered meat to restaurants all over town and knew all the cooks and especially the waitresses. He muscled his way through the packed crowd and into the restaurant. He went to one of the waitresses he knew well and had a few words with her. He came back to where we were waiting and said, “It won’t be long.” Sure enough the waitress came out and called his name. We wove through the crowded masses and went in to be seated. The stares of disbelief were palpable, but we were in and being waited upon. I don’t know how much dad tipped that woman, but I know it was generous.

In later years on the farm, dad would call us on New Year's Eve at midnoght to wish us a Happy New Year. He and mom were always awake at midnight.