Spammity spam. . .

Tonight I was looking through the 11 August 1945 issue of The New Yorker. I was reading that particular issue to see if they had made any comments relating to the bombing of Hiroshima. They did not, but in the 'Talk of the Town' section they did have an article about Jay Hormel. In it there was the following passage:

In his office at the Hormel plant in Austin, Minnesota, he keeps what he calls his Scurrilous File, in which he dumps the letters of abuse that are sent to him by soldiers everywhere in the world. "If they think Spam is terrible," Mr Hormel told us, "they ought to have eaten the bully beef we had in the last war. Maybe that's where the verb 'to beef' came from. Maybe the verb 'to spam' will come out of this war. Nothing would surprise me any more." He blinked his eyes. "The language people use!"

If he only knew.

二つ三つ星みいだすや啼く蛙

I can see/Two or three stars/Frogs are croaking.

It seems like a mighty long time . . .

It was in 1965. I'm pretty sure it was on a Sunday morning, but I can't remember if it was in late April or early May. Early in the morning my mother dropped me off in the circle drive in front of the main entrance of the high school. She took my suitcase out of the trunk for me, and put it on the side walk next to those of my classmates. She asked me one last time if I was sure I would be all right, and then got back in the car and drove home.