Today’s missive touches on the weird things we do to entertain small kids and some of the odd senses of humor our families exhibited. So it’s going to jump around.

My Dad would fold his hand into a fist but leave the thumb and little fingers sticking out. No, he wasn’t a Texas Longhorns fan making the hook em horns sign and he wasn’t into heavy metal. Not that I knew of anyway.

More on camping.

I’ll touch on trips to Deep Creek and Conrad Meadows.

I’ll start with Deep Creek.

We would go from there to the old Copper City mine site. There were a few buildings still standing when I was young. Steve, myself, and whoever was with us, be it our cousins Tim and Terri or another family of friends from Selah would want to play in the old buildings. Our parents discouraged this and definitely forbade the old mineshaft! For some reason they thought we might do something stupid and dangerous.

Didn’t sleep much last night and just got back from the Y so here’s another couple of Grandpa Sorenson stories.

We made a trip up there when I was 14 and Steve 11. Grandpa corralled me to go to a lutefisk dinner at the local sons of Norway hall. Everyone else was smart enough to make an escape. Steve went with Dad to Port Angeles to buy some gear at Swain’s for a fishing trip the next day. Mom and Sherri went with Dorothea to bingo at the grange hall.

Another tale of an earlier visit to Grandpa’s.

Steve and I were probably 14 and 11. Our folks put us on a Greyhound at the depot that used to be on Yakima avenue. Steve wanted to sit in the back but I told him I’d been warned not to due to the bathroom being back there. Good advice because even at mid bus the smell got a little ripe!

The bus picked up more passengers at Ellensburg and we had a layover of 2 hours to switch buses in Seattle. I had picked up a copy of Hot Rod magazine and one of Mad magazine at the depot to pass the time. Steve passed the time by antagonizing me!

Today’s story is going to focus more on my Uncle Gale or Gingo as I called him when I was younger.

Gingo gave me my first taste of beer. As with most young kids, I thought that was pretty good. I saw my Uncle pouring a drink out of another brown bottle and wanted some. I guess I got a little demanding so he poured me a little. Turns out it was whiskey and I spit it all over my Grandpa’s floor.

It’s odd, the things that stick out in your memories of younger years.

I have mentioned my Grandma Sorenson pulling a frozen apple pie out she had pre-made and baking it because I claimed I smelled a pie. I was about 4 or 5 when she died but, from what I remember, it’s easy to see where Mom got her cooking skills.

She was a slender woman in her late forties but came home from work and had a stroke. They took her to the hospital but they couldn’t save her. I didn’t know what was going on but my parents, Grandpa, and other adults in the family were at Grandpa’s house. They were all in a somber mood and Grandma wasn’t there.

Today’s dissertation is on country guys cooking.

In general the old belief was that the man would be out working and the wife would have lunch and dinner done for him.

Reality was the wife usually worked all day herself then came home and made dinner. That’s the way it was in our house.

Both of our sons and I are pretty decent cooks.

Dad’s culinary skills topped out at being able to put spam and mayonnaise between two slices of bread. If he really concentrated he could maybe roast a hotdog on a stick.