I’m uncertain how we skipped into the conversation, Judy and I. You know how chats proceed sometimes. Something is said that evokes something else. It flits from one thing to another . Then you have no idea how you spent the last few moments talking about something else.
In this evening ‘s case, I noted to Jude that I used to churn butter every Friday night as a kid. Yeah, I guess that is something else.
In fact, I wondered aloud to Judy… How many folks in Hunterdon County are talking this evening about their old butter churning days. Hundreds, right ? Well, maybe not.
“Sounds like you had one free-wheelin’ social life”, Jude noted, just a tad cynically.
“Just because I churned butter on Friday nights doesn’t mean that I was a social outcast”, I countered.
The fact was, Dad had an egg route on Saturday, peddling the dozens in the hoity toitier neighborhoods of Somerset County.
Some of you corporate types might refer to Dad’s butter on his egg route as a “line extension “.
Oh well. I wonder if today the whole butter thing would have been allowed. Surely some little law would preclude it today. Don’t you think ?