by Norman Gene Young

Has anybody heard from Frank Finch since the awful fires in California? He has lived in Simi for many years, and one of the worst fires was in what the television referred to as Simi Valley, which I presume is at or near his home. I started trying to get him by phone while the fires were raging, and am still trying off and on, but have had no luck. I finally got the operator out there and she gave me numbers of all Finches she had listed, thinking that one of his sons might be in that area. I tried those numbers also, but had no luck. She said many of the phone lines were down, which was no surprise, but somehow there must be some way to get in touch with him.

If anybody has phone numbers for Charles or Herb Finch, let me know and I’ll contact them. Surely somebody has heard from Frank.

On this Thanksgiving week there are many things for which we should give thanks, and among them are: we are not in danger of having forest fires or floods, and we live in a country of freedom.


Typos are easy to make, and I should know, since we made plenty of them for years. But somebody recently sent me this one which is in a class by itself, from The Western Empire magazine: “Mrs. Fred Harmond is sick in bed this week with a bad colt which has been annoying her for quite some time.”

That certainly would be annoying, wouldn’t it?


Besides thinking about how much turkey we’ll have to eat tomorrow, and who will share it with us, stop and think about the numerous blessings we have in this land. This is the week to count them, if you haven’t lately.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you!


Or, will it be a talking cook stove? Might we hear? “I see ya there big boy. Throw the cookie dough into my buddy Milt the trash can. (“Thank you.”)

“Now step away and assume the position; Hilda, the vacuum cleaner, is gonna check your pockets for that candy bar missing from the cabinet.”

“Oh and by the way, John, in there in the bath room? He said that you...” It’s scary.

The word for the week is delusional.