I love my Grandpa Sid for so many reasons. I remember Grandpa putting my cousin and I in a metal bushel basket at the top of the corn shed hill, spinning and pushing us down the ice-covered gravel road. [Dangerous? Heck yes. Fun? Heck yes.] I remember him getting just as anxiously excited as my dad during tobacco harvest. He lives just down the hill from the farm and sends me awesome vintage [not the word he would use but they’re super cute and old] valentines and birthday postcards.
When I was home a few weekends ago, I wanted to stop down to say hello and tell him about my assignment to region three, but he wasn’t home. I called and left him a message, letting him know I had stopped and that I would call when I had further assignment news. In response to that message, I received a letter in the mail yesterday, in his awesome tight script.
He told me about his wishes for my further assignment, told me what he’d been up to, and then told me where to get the best lutefisk. Now I’m telling you – Iola, WI. To quote Grandpa, “If you like lutefisk, that’s the place to go.”
You take care.
there's no place like gnome. 
This is adorable. Reminds me of my grandma, who we call "Grammie." She likes to think she's Norwegian, so one Christmas we endured lutefisk on Christmas Eve. Really, though, she's Bohemian, and she won't let you forget it. She'll write in birthday cards much the same way your grandpa does a weekly update in his letters. I save them all so that in years to come, I'll know what was going on toward the end of February in the year she sent the card. Thanks for this post- made me smile!