Here is every one that is up so far: the new ones I have drawn for the computer, one every Sunday, and then three old ones from the files, out of my scrapbooks. I wrote a little about each.

(This page has eight pictures on it, so give it a minute if you're on a modem. -- Roland)

The first one for the computer. I will let you guess who it is about. I will say that I never actually put the mouse on the floor. I thought about it. I learned to sew on my mother's treadle machine and I still have it, and when you have run a machine with your feet for sixty years and somebody hands you a thing that wants clicking, your feet have opinions.

Labor Day weekend is fair weekend here, and the Ferris wheel is about as high as anybody in this county gets without a ladder. I rode it once, in 1958, and I kept my eyes open the whole way around, unlike some people I could name and won't.

Roland would like it known that this is not him. He does have a pager. It was not him.

The hymn numbers on the board are the real ones from that Sunday. Somebody will check.

Everybody is asking everybody whether they are ready for Y2K. Roland has explained it to me twice. As near as I can tell, the computers are going to wake up on New Year's Day and think it is 1900, in which case they are in for a surprise.

I have a can opener that doesn't plug in, and the man at our feed mill really does add up the whole bill in his head before the machine can. We'll be all right.

This one is for my husband, who leaned on the back fence after supper for forty-one years. There is more about it on the front page.

The paper came out on Thursdays. Every Thursday for thirty-five years I cut mine out and pasted it in a scrapbook, and the scrapbooks are on the shelf over the sewing machine. The heading on top is the one the paper ran over it every week. I lettered that in 1962 and they used the same one until the end.

Congress passed a law in 1966 so the whole country would set the clocks ahead on the same Sunday. The farmers around here did not care for it, and the cows cared for it less. A cow milks by the sun, and what the clock says is your problem. This ran the Thursday before the clocks went ahead that spring, and I got more letters about it than about anything else I drew that year, every one of them from a farmer and every one of them agreeing.

The summer of the gas lines. Our station in town ran short that summer like everybody's did, and when the tanker came in, the line went back past the grain elevator. Somebody always figures out how to make a dollar off of a thing like that. I won't say who, but they did all right.

That winter you couldn't turn on the news without hearing about the information superhighway. Nobody around here knew what it was, but we knew who plowed the roads, and it was the town, and the town board was already behind on the ones we had.

Now I find out it comes in over the telephone line. So I suppose the telephone company plows it.