Paperwork: Thanks to readers who write. It’s time to share a little

This column that pops out of my mental toaster each week is always about connecting. Me to you. You to me.

I know when it’s working because I get feedback: handwritten letters, email and responses after I post columns to social media.

Now it’s time to share some of your stories and thoughts.

In my column of Feb. 3, “There’s something special about memories that smell good,” I mentioned a crazy dish my mom made that we called “milk toast.”

It jogged this memory from Jenny of Crest Hill:

“I took two elderly aunts on a driving vacation out East about 40 years ago. We got to the end of Cape Cod about 9 p.m., when the restaurants were closing down. Aunt Mary didn’t want a bowl of chili or a hamburger because she never ate that late. So she ordered ‘graveyard stew’ – a piece of toast in hot milk. We were all educated with that ‘new’ dish.

“Your column recalled the recipe to me and suggested that these days it might be good for my sensitive stomach, too. I have decided to try it. Thanks!”

Lynne W. of Mt. Morris shared a funny story:

“I enjoyed your article (Feb. 10) about boyhood pranks, just short of against the law. I, too, had a circle of four close friends. Nancy was the ringleader and Fran willingly went along with almost everything she came up with. Priscilla and I were a bit more cautious.

“The local gas station at the time (this was in the ′50s) had a sign that read, ‘We give S&H Green Stamps.’ It was an outside sign and on a stand and we would joke about it whenever we passed it.

“One evening after supper Nancy called and said we were all to meet under the street light at Hitt and Seminary Ave. I said OK. So, 10:30 comes and there we all are, huddled. She said this is the plan. ‘We take the S&H Green Stamp sign from the gas station, take the back street to the funeral home and put it there! And then run for home.’ (Our town is a small village of under 3,000 and after 8 p.m. nothing much goes on and the local cops just sit at the local bar waiting to take some drunk home perhaps. It is/was and still is a quiet village here.)

“All the way over to the funeral home, Priscilla and I had the back part. She would mutter to me, ‘If my mom finds out I will never get out of the house again!’ I secretly thought, too, my mom would kill me. …

“We did not get caught and the next day at school everyone was talking about it and the credit for it went to some of the boys, much to our relief. It was much later at a class reunion when someone asked who did it, as it had remained a secret for years and legend with much speculation.

“Nancy, the ring leader, got up and told the story and the four of us took a bow and were looked upon with new respect. As Pricilla said later to me, ‘Lynne, that was petty theft.’ Yes, but it was back at the gas station by midafternoon! It was by today’s standard a pretty mild prank. I have heard tales of tipping over outhouses in the old days, with someone in them! Goodness!

“I do enjoy reading you. It gives me a lift.”

Thank you Lynn. I do remember those stamps. Thanks for giving my memory a lift.

And thanks to all readers who also write and connect with me. I will share more next week.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His PaperWork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail The Times, 110 W. Jefferson St., Ottawa, IL 61350.