Lots of snow

January 5, 1932 - We're having a sort of blizzard today.  I got to school at 10 minutes to 8 this morning.  Raymond, Ronald and Alfred were the only ones at school.  Willard stopped at the schoolhouse a few minutes.  I wrote a letter to Mayme today.  We played Rook this evening.
January 6, 1932 - Everybody was back to school today.  The snow is drifted pretty deep in some places.  The mailman couldn't go today.  I wrote to Aunt Mildred this evening.  We played Rook this evening and I won a game!  Very unusual.
January 7, 1932 - The roads are opened today.  I got a card from Marjorie Misfeldt.  She's having her box social tomorrow nite and asked me to come.  Mother called up tonite asking if I were coming home tomorrow nite.  I've got to get a new pair of overshoes as mine are wearing out.


I have no particular comments to add about Grandma's goings-on here.  I do, however, have a silly contribution to this post.  Thanks to ebay, I am now the proud owner of a book of old Danish stories.  The book itself was printed in 1967, but according to the back cover, the stories are from about 1780 through 1871.  I haven't yet read all of them, but there is a common thread in the sense of humor shown, I think.  First, a bit about the Mols (from the back cover):

"Every country has its stories about simple folk like the traditional yokel, bumpkin and gawby of England or the hayseeds and hicks of America.  Sometimes the stories are generalised and told about simple people in any part of the country; but they often come to be identified with some small town or country district.  In Denmark the people of Mols were singled out for this dubious honour some two centuries ago, and they have had the good sense, which goes with a humor-loving people to be proud of the old stories and they are nowhere more popular than in Mols itself."

With that said, here is the first story in the book, The Stork in the Corn:

One summer when the corn stood high and heavy in the field, a Mols village was visited by a stork which had the sad habit of parading up and down the fields in search of frogs.  The Mols folk didn't like it a bit, fearing that the bird would trample down all their fine corn.  They discussed the matter a good deal and at last they decided that the village herdsman should go into the cornfield and drive the stork out.  But when he was on point of walking into the corn they discovered that he had very big, broad feet so that he was likely to trample down the corn even more than the stork.  Here was a pretty kettle of fish!  They couldn't let him walk in the corn and yet he had been appointed to drive out the stork.  At last one of them had a good idea.  They should carry him and then all should be well.  That seemed to be very reasonable as his feet would not then touch the ground.  So they took a field gate off its hinges, sat the herdsman on it, and eight men triumphantly carried him into the corn in pursuit of the stork -- and he did not trample down a single plant.

This sounds like something Grandpa would chuckle about.