View from the Barnyard

Graduation Day — The Rise of the Food Nazi

BY DEE “BABY” BAYSINGER
Another crop of kids have put their schooling behind them and have their eyes toward their futures. Some to colleges for higher learning and astronomical student loan debt. Others to trade schools (I would opt for that path) and others to immediately join the work force until they decide their true life’s calling. Either way, I congratulate them for their progress so far and again wonder to myself how these kids grew up so fast. They get their drivers license and the next thing they’re decked out in school robes.
I rarely cry at graduations ‘cuz I view it as a happy time and of course, being the “foodie” that I am, I look forward to the after parties.
This year with Georgia in tow, our first stop was at Jacob Rosemore’s festivities. We have a soft spot in our hearts for Jacob because he has worked at Woony Foods for quite some time and we get to harass him on a regular basis. Georgia and I like to take credit for getting him to come out of his shy shell. Georgia says she just started by tipping him a dollar each time and by $3, he started to like her. I knew he was my match when I flew into the store one day needing Ramen noodles. Jacob stoically told me they didn’t sell them. I was downcast thinking there went that recipe down the tubes, when Jacob started laughing and said, “Are you crazy, Dee? Every store in America sells Ramen noodles!”
So being the people we are, Georgia and I put together a care package for him for school, which included notes and items such as hamburger helper for date night, Ramen noodles, and a teddy bear that said, “Your mom says this better be the only thing you sleep with!” I was aghast to discover no potato salad at Jacob’s party. I informed Mom (Amy Miiller) she would be receiving an F-rating, even though she looked absolutely “fabulous” in a black legging ensemble. She tartly replied, “Oh, just eat some more damn nuts.” Her mom, Sue Larson, cajoled me over to the cake table by saying the cake would make up for it. (Didn’t Marie Antoinette get into some hot water with a similar comment?) Sue was right. Even though we hate the word “moist” in Sanborn County, the cake was divine and finally, a frosting I could eat.
Next stop was Elliott Ohlrogge’s and Austin Ball’s bash at KO’s Service building. Cars were lined up clear to the highway and we seriously could not find a place to park until someone pulled out. We entered to find a guestbook and a place to comment on the night. Good idea! We then entered the front to discover Elena Ball and Leslie Ohlrogge (way to go Mamas) dishing up ham and turkey sandwiches, baked beans, (Danny Ball took on Soop’s recipe — fine job) oh, and divided plates so my food didn’t touch, salads and lo and behold, two bowls of potato salad, plus the crowning glory of pickle wraps (Georgia thought she ate 21.) Keith, feel free to bill her later. When my eyes alighted on the potato salad, I started to bow and supplicate like a slave to the pharaoh. Wouldn’t you know a video recorder caught me in the act.
The interior of the shed was awesome! It reminded me of when you first see a luxury casino in Vegas. It was decorated to the max with school colors and lights and the most incredible sight was three walls completely filled with hundreds of photos of the boys’ lives and their crowning awards and achievements. It literally took everyone’s breath away.
Time flew by while we got to visit with people from near and far. I finally decided I had to have closure with Lincoln Feistner (I always do at graduation) and chewed his butt once again for exploding eggs in my microwave and breaking my broom. Unfazed in the least, he told me he wasn’t the culprit and tried to lay the blame on someone else, whose name he wouldn’t divulge. Lincoln said my age group is getting wacky ‘cuz five other people had also accused him of wrongdoing. I refuse to believe it could be Barry Selland because he once again professed to Georgia and I we were “so hot.” (Barry wouldn’t fib, would he?)
Meanwhile back at the food table, we had strategically positioned ourselves by the pickle wraps, which seemed to be a popular item. It was a high traffic area to congregate and tell stories. Sarah Olinger swore she peed her pants two times during a dating story of Georgia’s. (Too bad Sarah confessed she doesn’t read the paper, otherwise she would get to see this tidbit.)
I noticed a BandAid on Jim Hegg’s neck and inquired as to what happened. He said, “Oh, you know, I married one of those Forestburg girls.” I said, “Surely you didn’t criticize the lumps in her mashed potatoes?” Cathy replied, “I don’t even make potatoes!”
At almost 11 p.m., Gary Swenson started to point at his watch and remarked how he couldn’t believe the lateness of the hour and I was still out. That reminded me I needed to toodle for home, but not before I ran across Danny Ball and told him I wasn’t invited but I came anyway. He replied, “We couldn’t invite everyone.” I rallied and said, “Now you’re saying I’m an everyone.” Knowing my affinity for tater salad, he confessed there were no onions in it ‘cuz Keith hates them. Simple solution — next time do like the old punch bowls at weddings — one spiked and the other not.
I don’t want a thank you from any graduates. I just want Elliott to fix my flat tires if I’m stranded along the road and Austin can mow my lawn ‘til my demise. I will settle for Jacob’s firstborn child! Ha, like Rumpelstiltskin.
Excellent time
had by all,
Dee Baby

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