Rambling Josh

My daughter wanted to stroll around downtown this weekend and visit a few antique shops so her and I headed out for some father daughter browsing. She didn’t ask me to wait in the car or walk a block behind her so I assumed she wanted me to tag along. I enjoy antique shops and generally take a leisurely stroll through the shops in downtown Rapid City every month or so.

I don’t really go there to buy anything I just enjoy looking at old stuff. Apparently I’m not a minority in the “looking not buying” as not much merchandise seems to have changed hands in any of the antique shops in the last few years. As my daughter said, “These stores are more like museums than stores.”

As much as I enjoy “antiquing” I always experience a twinge or two of sadness as I stroll about surrounded by things that once belonged to and were most likely treasured by someone else a long time ago. What was the story behind those that gave form and life to these clothes, gazed into this mirror, walked in these shoes?

I enjoy holding old hand tools and feeling the smooth well-worn wood handle in my hand as I wonder about the person that owned them and what they created with them. Did some kid use this bit brace to drill holes in a bunch of car tires on his grandpa’s farm? My brother Jarvis and I can’t be the only kids that did that? I have that very bit brace in my possession and I smile every time I look at it. My grandpa was a patient man.

The children’s toys always get to me too, but in a different way. I look at those mint condition toys, many of which I had as a child, and wonder what kind of sissy kid owned them. Those poor toys never got properly played with. My toys were mint condition for as long as it took me to construct an explosive or find a hammer. My brother and I were very hard on toys and generally beat up, blew up, or burned up most any toy in our possession.

I did feel a slight pang of guilt when I spied a Johnny West action figure in a glass case complete with all his twenty-four accessories, horse, two dogs (Flick and Flack), and his entourage. The whole gang was there, Jane, Jay and Josie West, Sam Cobra (the villain), and Chief Cherokee and his daughter, Princess Wildflower.

Why did I feel a bit guilty as I looked over this impressive set of toys? The Johnny West action figures were manufactured from 1965 to about 1975 and my Uncle Tim had this same complete set when he was a kid. The complete set, in the condition my uncle left it, would probably be worth about $500 dollars today. The complete set, in the condition my brother and I left it, is worthless. My uncle is a patient man.

Poor Johnny, Jane, Jay, and Josie. Their cowboy days were numbered the day Jarvis and Josh were introduced to the West gang. It all started with mean ole' Sam Cobra stealin' Chief Cherokee’s horse, which Princess Wildflower happened to be riding at the time. Well we thought Sam stole the horse but we came to find out later, after we had popped an arm or two off in the name of frontier justice, that he and Princess Wildflower had been seeing each other on the sly.

Jarvis and I panicked and began pursuing all those that witnessed our mishandling of the Sam Cobra case to cover our tracks. They were in the wrong toy box at the wrong time. Somehow though the mint condition Johnny West gang in the glass display case all seem a little melancholy, like they missed out on something. They’re just begging to live a little. To have an arm, leg, or head snapped off. To be de-accessorized and terrorized by two destructive kids that were sent to play because they couldn’t watch Hee Haw and Lawrence Welk quietly.

Johnny West…“Pffft you were gone.”

The Black Hills Stock Show and Rodeo is in town for a few weeks which means I get the call to either work the rodeo or work whatever other sporting events are going on in town during that time. I got the “other” this time around so Friday and Saturday I worked about 16 hours of high school basketball.

By “worked” I mean I sat and ate some popcorn and a licorice whip or two, read the paper and patiently waited for someone to get hurt. If you’re not the patient type and thrive on a constant threat of disaster and excitement in the workplace athletic training probably isn’t the profession for you.

A disaster in my workplace is getting halfway through a bag of popcorn and as your digging a kernel out of your teeth coming to the realization that you forgot to wash your hands after evaluating a sweaty foot.

I mentioned my penchant for people watching a few weeks back and that is one of the requirements for enjoying life as an athletic trainer. Highest on my list of people to watch at sporting events has always been the coaches. Nothing better than watching a seemingly stable adult get lost in a temper tantrum when a call doesn’t go their way or when a player doesn’t do what they were coached to do.

The only place you could enjoy more whining and cursing would be at a bingo palace just after someone (most likely my Grandma Helen) yelps out, “Bingo!”

As an athletic trainer and a washed up athlete I’ve spent a lot of time on the sidelines and in locker rooms privy to a front row seat to some wonderfully entertaining tirades. Entertaining but for some reason never motivational. I guess I’ve never been the type to garner motivation from a raging coach. Motivated? No. Fits of silent full body shake laughter and unwipable smirks? Yes. Knute Rockne would have strangled me.

Throwing clip boards, kicking chairs, ripping off suit coats, cursing, stomping about…what a spectacle to behold. Some coaches are better at it than others and manage to tie everything together into an impressive seamless rant. No breaks or pauses just let it go.

I understand where this outburst of emotion comes from. If you were to invest as much time and effort into a team as a head coach does you would probably find yourself in the same position a time or two. Coaches want the best out of their players for the sake of their players and the team. Someone once said, “Playing sports doesn’t build character it reveals it.” A coach works to get their players and team into a position to reveal their character.

I commend their dedication to their sport and their athlete’s and am thankful for the many good coaches I’ve played for and worked with. I commend you and thank you and yes sometimes I laugh at you.

You would laugh at you too if you could see that vein sticking out of your forehead as you stomp about yelling something in reference to a referees eyesight and insufficient intelligence.

What’s the take home message? Never accept a half-eaten bag of popcorn from an athletic trainer at a sporting event. Unless you like extra salt.

When I was a sophomore in high school my parents bought the grocery store in Lignite. “Berg’s Red Owl” became “DJ’s Food Center” and for 22 years my parents put in endless hours of their time and energy to make their business a success. How many of you could work with your spouse for 22 years without an “incident” leaving you to explain yourself in front of a jury?

Like many other members of our family I occasionally worked at the store to help out and to visit with customers. The latter being my area of expertise. Unlike my parents we could all come and go without worrying about the store and all its working parts.

We could enjoy a North Dakota lightning storm without worrying about a compressor getting knocked out, we could go away for the weekend and not worry about a freezer going down, we could go off to college with a trunk full of grocery’s and not worry who was going to work if we got sick.

The store wasn’t open 24 hours a day 7 days a week but be assured that owning it was a 24/7 gig and how my parents did it for so long is impressive. People would ask if I had plans of taking over the store one day and it was a thought that I briefly entertained when I first got married. Very briefly.

Being away from home at college for 4 or 5 years can dim the memory but a few days of working full-time at the store was always good for enlightening me with the fact that running that joint would be far from entertaining. If it had occurred DJs would not have stood for Dawn and Josh but most likely Drunken Josh, Dumb Josh, Drooling Josh or some other unflattering “D” words.

My Mom and Dad have always been my hero’s. Webster’s Dictionary defines a hero as “someone admired for their achievements and noble qualities.” Running a successful business for 22 years is an achievement but the noble way in which it was done is something very special. I admire them for what they did and I admire them for being able to step away.

Be assured that this was not an easy decision that came about suddenly and without thought. They gave a lot of themselves to that place and it is true that it did give back. It gave them a livelihood, it gave them a means to support a family, it gave them the opportunity to help a lot of people in need.

There was give and take but my parents giving a lot and the store taking a lot more is not a balanced equation. Now my parents are free to focus their “noble qualities” on other avenues and I am confident that whatever direction they go they will arrive successfully and together. Together…that’s all that has ever mattered.

Thank you Mom and Dad for doing what you did for so long. You are my hero’s and I wish you all the best. Also, thank you to those in the community and surrounding area that supported the store with your loyal patronage.

It was our dogs third birthday the other day. Well we really don’t know when his actual birthday is so we just use the day we got him at the humane society as his birthday. All we know is that he was a stray picked up by animal control and brought to the humane society when he was roughly 6 months old.

He doesn’t like to talk about his past much, labs are like that, so I respect his privacy and figure he’ll tell me when he’s good and ready, things like that take time. Some night when he’s had one too many shots of Captain Labrador, he’s twenty-one now, he’ll lose his grip on that bitter ball of past resentments and it’ll all come out.

So what did we get Pre for his third birthday? We brought him home from the pound three years ago that should be enough I would think. That and two cans of dog food a day, all the water he can drink, a floor to sleep on, a yard to do his business in, and two kids that adore him. I think he’s done pretty well for himself.

I remember the day we got him. We went to the humane society just to look. Taking two kids to the humane society “just to look”…yeah I should have seen it coming. I really didn’t know if I wanted a dog, seemed like too much of a hassle, and I never really would describe myself as a dog person, but then I met Pre. I’m still not one of the “those” dog people, I’m a Pre person, he suits me.

Someone once told me that you don’t find a dog they find you and I can’t imagine our family without Pre now. I also can’t imagine what it would be like if the kids did everything they said they would do if we got a dog. Walk him, brush him, feed him, pick up after him, “Oh we’ll do all of that dad, every single day, and you won’t even have to tell us twelve times to do it.” Can’t imagine.

Awhile back the kids conspired with their mother to “suggest” we get another dog so Pre had someone to chit chat with about things us humans just don’t understand. I told them we could get another dog but we’d have to get rid of Pre first. We only have one dog bed, one dog dish, one leash, so it seems to me we can only have one dog. They retreated but I’m always on guard for another barrage or any side trips to the humane society “just to look.”

I was the one that wanted a dog least. Maybe that’s why he seems to have taken to me the most. I heard him explaining it to the neighbor’s dog, “The two kids and that lady were a pushover but it took a little work to soften up the balding one that blames all the farts on me.”

He softened me up more than I care to admit. Now if he’d only learn to make a pot a coffee in the morning and tell me when my clothes don’t match before I go to work.

The kids and I kicked off our school year a few weeks ago. Back to the scheduled life of academia we go for another 9 month tour. I don’t care much for schedules and routines so it’s always hard for me to get back into the having to be places at certain times mind set.

I much prefer the flip-flop frame of mind I dawdle in over those glorious summer months. It’s a tough monkey to get off your back. Well actually that’s not a monkey I just haven’t had time to get my back waxed with all this work stuff going on and with the winter months approaching I may just hold off until spring.

For those poor souls that don’t know or have never experienced a “flip-flop frame of mind” you have some homework. I know summers has drained away like the public pool water leaving nothing but 3 months of sunscreen sludge and lord only knows what else clinging to the sides, but there’s still a few warm days left to complete your assignment.

Here’s the assignment: Put on your normal lace up, pull-on, Velcro, whatever you normally constrain your feet to shoes, and go for a walk, either around town, out in the yard, do some yard work, some house work, mow the lawn, walk the dog, go door-to-door collecting dryer lint and old toothbrushes, whatever just move for awhile. Once complete take note of your frame of mind and proceed to step two.

Step two entails slipping those nasty bunion riddled fungus fortresses into a lovely pair of flip-flops. It may feel strange at first with that strap between your first two toes but just like the thong underwear you dabbled in last year you’ll get used to it.

Now repeat whatever form of “walk about” you performed in part one of this assignment only this time with your knew friends Flip and Flop along for the mosey. Stop scrunching up your toes they won’t fall off if mind your speed and keep the hustle and bustle to a minimum.

Don’t fight it or you’ll end up with Flip or Flop lying lifeless behind you while your tender feet attempt to navigate the rocky road back to the scene of their spontaneous removal. They fell off for a reason, you need to slow down, you need to access your “flip-flop frame of mind” and become one with the thingy between your toes and let Flip and Flop be your guide to leisureness.

Now some activities are not safe for flip-flops, such as mowing the lawn, but strolling past the lawn mower to the hammock is a perfectly safe pursuit. I know there are also times you may feel the need to rush about and hurry, hurry, hurry and flip-flops just wouldn’t be practical. As a certified Flipflopologist I recommend you avoid those times.

Just like the above mentioned thong underwear, over time you will learn to love this form of footwear and the frame of mind it will produce. Another reason I support the flip frame of mind movement is that while wearing them you can’t sneak up on anyone, creep around in the dark, or flee the scene so flip-flops would also decrease crime rates.

Lower crime rates and decreased stress levels. What more can you ask from modest footwear?

You’ve got your assignment now go forth and flip-flop.

On August 17th through the 19th 27 riders participated in the 2nd annual “Highway 212 Gut Check.” The “Gut Check” is an endurance race across SD, via Hwy 212, to raise funds and awareness for the Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation of America.

Participants have 48 hours to make it from the SD/WY border to the SD/MN border which is “normally” 412 miles. This year the SD Department of Transportation and Mother Nature teamed up to “dampen” the spirits of more than a few of the participants.

As fate would have it, on that very same weekend South Dakota got more rain than it had all summer, three days worth. As fate would have it, SDDOT decided it was time to replace a bridge along Highway 212 creating a 22 mile detour.

Twenty-two miles may not seem like much to the “normal” person, that’s smart enough to drive a car instead of a bicycle, but on a bike, in the rain, against the wind it adds up to about 2 extra hours of butt numbing fun.

Oh, alright it didn’t rain the entire race; the first 50 miles were dry and hot with a STRONG head wind. Then it began to sprinkle, then it began to rain, then it began to come down like the tears of a bike rider who’s trying to ride across South Dakota…against the wind.

Did I mention the wind? When I organized this event last year I checked all the available resources to find the predominant wind direction for the middle of August was from west to east. For three fateful days in August of 2007, the 17th through the 19th to be exact, the wind howled from east to west.

For those of you that don’t know and don’t care to find out a tail wind will allow a knucklehead on a bicycle to travel along leisurely at about 20 miles an hour. For those of you that don’t know and don’t care to find out a head wind will allow a knucklehead on a bicycle to travel along painfully at about 12 miles an hour.

When I crawled out of bed and gimped down the stairs on Monday August 20th I looked out the window to see my fickle old friend the West wind back from his three day hiatus. If you could kick the wind I know right where I’d kick it.

Jay Stevens, formerly of Lignite, also participated in the event. His sister Terri and Joyce (formerly Morgel) of Portal came from Bismarck to be his SAG. My wife and kids accompanied me as my SAG. SAG stands for Support And Guidance and Jay and myself had and needed plenty of both.

Seventy-five miles into the race at Mudd Butte SD, in the dark, in the rain, in the wind, in the lightening, Jay and myself decided to form the Mudd Butte Leapfrog Team A.K.A The Mudd Butte Merger. From that point on one of us would ride about 10 miles while the other dined and rested in the dry warmth of one of our SAG wagons and then switch.

The Mudd Butte Leapfrog Team, a rocket scientist and a college professor, made it about 300 miles before our backsides told are brains to knock it off.

Of the 27 riders, 19 were in the solo division, and of those 19 three finished the race. The rest of us tried, and most plan on trying it again next year. Trying and failing is much more gratifying than not trying at all. All in all we raised about $4,600.00 for the CCFA. Jay raised over a thousand himself, and found himself a permanent place on the Mudd Butte Leapfrog Team.

Thank you to all that donated to the cause and helped spread the word about the event. I was very pleased going from 4 participants in 2006 to 27 this year. For more information on this years “Gut Check” visit: <sdata.national.edu/GutCheck2…>

Dust off your bike and get it and yourself ready for next year. The Mudd Butte Leapfrog Team is currently accepting members.

For those of you keeping tabs on my cabin building progress, or lack there of, I’m happy to report that it has a roof on it now. Well it did when we left but that was two weeks ago so it may just be a pile of warped lumber, bent nails, and stripped screws by now, which wouldn’t be much of a surprise since that’s what we started with.

Just to catch you up to speed me and a good friend of mine, Paul Richter, were granted permission about five years ago from our lovely wives, for reasons unknown to us at the time, to buy 22 acres in the Bull Mountains of Montana. The Bull Mountains are located about 30 miles north of Billings and we’ve been attempting to build a log cabin up there for a few years now.

An authentic, we pealed the logs and hacked them up with a chain saw, log cabin. It’s been a mostly enjoyable project, with intermittent bouts of, “Why am I doing this?” sprinkled about.

Paul and myself found out a few things about ourselves and each other during our roof raising expedition. No not that Paul enjoys wearing women’s shoes and singing Barbara Streisand hit’s while doing carpentry work. That I already knew, what I didn’t know was that he’s a terrible carpenter, and he can’t carry a tune in a rusty nail bucket.

I knew I had a few gaps in my carpentry repertoire and I was counting on him to fill those gaps. As it turns out we have the same gaps, not as many as our roof, but close. After the first full days work on the roof we were sitting back admiring, or sulking, over our craftsmanship when I said, “That doesn’t look like a full days work.” To which Paul replied, “Yeah, looks like about two hours of work.”

Two hours for someone that didn’t spend high school shop class building spice racks and shoddy shelves. Two hours for someone that realizes that jerryrigging one screw up will only lead to more advanced jerryrigging on a bigger screw up caused by the first jerryrigging. Jerryrigging is a viscous cycle in the construction of roof by two educated idiots.

My wife tried to comfort our battered, splintered, and bent nail ego’s by telling us that it looked great and we were doing a fine job. However, I was suspicious of her sincerity after her and the kids burst into laughter shortly after she said it. It wasn’t so much the laughing it was the finger pointing that really hurt.

The Environmental Protection Agency wanting to use our cabin as a poster boy to stop logging didn’t do much for our confidence either. Jesus was a carpenter, but if he had a hand in this cabin his Father would have sent a natural disaster to rid it from the earth.

When our lack of carpentry skills became more and more apparent Paul and myself just kept muttering to one another, “It’s just a cabin.” That phrase became our mantra whenever something wasn’t level or square. Yes we said it a lot. Half way through the roof building project the level and square were banished for insubordination.

We established early on that nobody with any carpentry skills or anybody that has ever been near something built by a carpenter is allowed within 300 feet of our cabin unless they sign a waiver stating that they will not point, laugh, snicker, raise eyebrows, or make any mention of the words level and/or square. You are not allowed to view the cabin during daylight hours or under the light of any moon greater than a crescent.

If you do solemnly swear to the above limitation you will be granted permission to view and use the cabin. There’s a lot of lumber in that roof, heavy lumber, topped of with steel roofing, steel with sharp jagged edges.

If you need anything I’ll be sleeping outside in my tent.

My family went camping with the families of two of my good friends last weekend and we all had a great time. There were 13 of us in all, six adults and seven yard apes. We only camped for two days but my family alone needed an SUV full of stuff to do it.

Loading all that stuff into the vehicle always makes me think back to my early college years when I would move home from college for the summer and all of my stuff would fit in the back seat of my tiny little car. My “car” was actually a glorified roller skate powered by two geriatric squirrels and a hamster with a club foot.

It was small but everything I owned fit in it with room for at least one medium sized hitchhiker and his pet chimp, if he happened to have one. Now it takes Noah and bunch of cubics to go on a two day camping trip 30 minutes from where we live. Its nobodies fault, except for possibly my wife and kids, because I only brought two things.

I brought my guitar and a coon skin cap. You can brush and floss your teeth with the tail of the cap, place it over a rock for a firm but ergonomically correct pillow, use it as a cereal bowl, and I’ve heard some people actually wear them.

As for the guitar well it’s uses are endless, firewood, strings for snaring wild game (using the hat as bait of course), cereal bowl, wash basin, tennis racket, fishing net, and I’ve heard some people actually play them.

It seems we need so much stuff nowadays, and if we don’t need it we want it, and if we don’t want it we think someone else might. Whatever happened to the days when all you got for Christmas was an orange and you were happy to get that? I’ve heard of them days but never was on the receiving end of such a Christmas miracle.

I think it’s because kids back then had what every kid always wants for Christmas, a pony. Everyone had pony’s back in those “all I got for Christmas was an orange” days. The parents were sitting around putting their Christmas list together, see the kids frolicking around with their ponies, and think “They’ve got a pony what gift could possibly rise above a pony?”

I’ll tell you, “Nothing.” That’s why they got an orange; they topped out the Christmas list. So keep asking for a pony for Christmas if you are prepared to receive a nice juicy orange for every Christmas thereafter.

Not a fruit basket or fruit cake, just a chocked full of vitamin C solitary orange. But then what do you care you’ve got a pony and an orange to ward off the sniffles during cold and flu season so you can ride your precious pony all that much more.

What do ponies and oranges have to do with camping with good friends and too much stuff? I don’t know….they’re both sweet, stinky, and hairy. What makes people drag all their stuff out of perfectly good houses with perfectly comfortable beds to sleep in a musty damp tent on a half inflated air mattress that has the sleep number comfort level of a sack of shoes?

The pure enjoyment of waving flaming balls of marshmallow around on hot pointy sticks while you’re hopped up on Hershey’s chocolate of course. Try that on a pony.

The word on the streets is that the Lignite Centennial was a success and I for one am inclined to agree with those words on that street. My family had a great time. Sierra and Jackson made several new friends that they can get in touch with again at Lignite’s 125th Celebration.

I was happily pondering the 125th until I put my minimal math skills to the test and discovered that I will be 60 years old in 25 years. Now for those of you that are sixtyish and have had time to adjust to being in a state of advanced age this may not be such a big deal but for a youngster like myself this ponder was a startling revelation and I don’t care to hear another word about it. I’ve got to stop pondering, it always turns ugly.

Back to present day bliss, I’ll concern myself with the future when it rears its bald, bifocaled head. No offense to any and all of you that may be bald and/or bifocaled or are closely acquainted with someone matching that description.

Speaking of…..I hope everyone got a chance to climb the rock wall, I know my kids sure enjoyed it. I was unaware that it was free until the Sunday after the celebration, my son apparently wasn’t aware of that little fact either since he kept asking me for money. I guess he was the only kid they were charging.

The style show was enjoyable despite the homely, hairy lady in polka dots. It ran like clockwork and thanks to Kathy Fagerland I got my dress wearing fix out of the way for the week. It’s just so hard to come up with a good excuse to wear polka dots, a wig, a handbag, and sensible shoes. I apologize if I tainted the allure of polka dots for all in attendance. With a little therapy my family and friends will hopefully learn to embrace and accept me for who I am.

The music was good both Friday and Saturday night and everyone seemed to be in jovial spirits at the street dance. No fights, well, no good fights. Just a lot of laughing and general tomfoolery or gabefoolery in my families case.

I heard that the 5k fun run was well attended. I had every intention of participating in the event but my body and mind got into an argument with my mouth and stomach the night before and were defeated terribly. It seems that my right arm defected and joined ranks with my mouth and stomach rendering the remainder of my body and mind helpless and at 8 a.m. Saturday morning useless.

Besides that the softball tournament had left me feeling and walking like I was celebrating the 125th. So I set out in search of some magic elixir from the local drug store to ease the pain. I found it, I drank it, it eased the pain, I repeated. The magic elixir didn’t make me run faster but I must have spilt some on my bed because it was whirling around like Marry Poppins during hurricane season.

All in all it was a wonderful weekend and it was fun to see Lignite buzzing with activity. During the celebration I actually meant it when I told my kids to watch out for traffic. Like most things of this nature it went just as fast as it came, but like a sack full of fireworks, it was fun while it lasted.

Thanks to everyone that worked so hard to make Lignite’s Centennial Celebration a success.

Lignite is abuzz with centennial preparation, lawn mowers mowing, paint brushes brushing, hammers hammering, chickens clucking, and whatever other “ing” thing you can think of is running rampant around this little town.

This celebration has been in the works for some time now, roughly 100 years, but there is always all those last minute details that creep up on you like ill fitting second hand pre-streaked thrift store underwear. Everyone is busy, busy, busy so if you’re rolling into town for the celebration be sure to thank those that made it possible.

The centennial committee has a lot of activities planned for the weekend, but has also left ample time for general chit chat, boisterous banter, and whatever other type of jaw wagging you prefer to partake in.

As you catch up with old friends keep in mind that nobody likes long boring stories, so if your stories are boring and long either shorten them or spice them up a bit. Nobody will know if you take a few liberties with your life story and 9 out of 11 people surveyed said they prefer a spiced up story to a boring one.

Feel free to be liberal with the spice but remember what you’re sprinkling around so you can keep your story straight, not that anyone’s listening. Most are going to be too weak to listen due to the starvation diet they put themselves on in preparation for this gathering.

Gaunt and listless they’ll shuffle around sipping diet water and nibbling on reduced calorie celery sticks nauseous from holding in their belly and grumpy from wearing buttocks accentuating underwear on a hot humid day. Eye’s blood shot from the misapplication of spray on insta-tan and red irritated patches of skin where unwanted hair was ripped mercilessly away.

All this in hopes of hearing one old soul say, “Well, my, my you haven’t changed a bit.”

The fact is that most all of us have changed quite a bit, some a little less on top and a little more on the bottom, some are parents, some are grandparents, some are retired, some were fired, some have come from far away, and some decided to stay.

Lignite is 100 years old and has been through many changes of its own, but some things never change, and with any luck never will. It’s still a small upstate North Dakota town with a big heart, beautiful sunsets, wonderful people, and the occasional mosquito.

I’m looking forward to the centennial celebration and having the opportunity to visit with old friends, tell old stories about past times, and new stories of where life has taken us.

During your stay in Lignite be sure to check out all the merchandise the centennial committee has to offer. Hats, shirts, buttons, Olive Johnson’s Cook Book, Lignite History Book, and many more things to commemorate the occasion.

Also be sure to take in the various activities going on; style show, bingo, fun run/walk, rock climbing wall, wacky Olympics, softball, golf, parade, street dance, and general shenanigan’s for those more interested in disorganized activities.

Happy 4th of July, may your potato salad always be cold and your buttocks accentuating underwear hot.