"COLUMN ONE"

"Close by the jolly fire I sit
And warm my frozen bones a bit"

And don't complain that this makes a nice rhyme but it takes forever or some smart-alec is sure to hand you a blow torch to speed up the thawing.

Maybe we should feel real lucky, anyway. According to weather statistics, the lowest temperature ever recorded in the United States was minus 78 degrees F. at Fort Yukon, Alaska, in 1886.

On the other hand, the highest was 134 degrees F in 1913 in Death Valley, California. Hmmmm . . . wonder if ol' Death Valley Pete would like a partner?

I'm glad to see I'm not the only one who bows to the cold North wind which sends me scurring for a corner to cower in. Over at Parker's Grocery, they've locked the left front door, so move to the west a few steps and open the right hand door to go in.

That aforementioned cold North wind was freezing the checkers to death, I hear.

One of my favorite people is a 17 year old Tulsa girl who comes down now and then to spend the weekend with our teenage daughter. We'll call her Mary Ann (that's her name) and anytime she walks in the front door she is invariably caroling, "I'm so th-rilled to get to come to Jenks!"

I love the way she "gets" to come to Jenks . . . just like it's as rare a treat as Bashir Ahmad, the camel driver, visiting Vice President Johnson.

I really like living in Jenks but there are times when I rate it "secnery - ugh; people - so-so; future - nil" just as you do and these are the times when Mary Ann's presence is the best medicine in the world.

Her out-going, happy disposition makes friends for her as effortlessly as hopping over cracks in the sidewalks and her talents are wasted in Tulsa.

"I just love Jenks!" she enthuses. "Everybody is so nice and friendly. No matter who you smile at, you get a smile back. And everybody knows everybody else!"

She spends most of her time visiting the stores and deliberately amazing herself with the number of people who remember her from her last visit. "Jenks is just FABULOUS!" she declares.

Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I am soon comtemplating our situation in relation to this town she's bragging to the skies.

"It is a wonderful little town, at that," I muse. "I sure wouldn't want to live anywhere else." (It's easy to forget that Mary Ann's enthusiasm and delight over something new would bring the same reaction to a visit to St. Louis or Los Angeles or Sapulpa.)

Mary Ann's fervor reached the epitome the night of the football parade. "I've never in my life been in a parade!" she squealed when she heard the plans for the dressed-up cars.

"We're not going to Tulsa," she was told, "just Jenks . . . "

"That's wonderful!" she cried.

She loved every minute of it from finishing the cars trimming to lining up on Peoria by Frailey's Station. Only once her zeal lagged just a little.

"Everybody's in the parade," she wailed, "who's going to watch us?"

The parade moved on, around the corner, east down Main and over the railroad tracks. Mary Ann gasped, "Where did all those people come from?" but her voice was drowned out except for the whisper of it and she couldn't resist joining in on the clamor for long.

So, if you see me or one of my family suddenly reach down to give Main Street a loving, appreciative pat, you'll know the answer without asking . . . Mary Ann's been visiting us again.

(Disturbing afterthought: Where DID all those people come from?)