Somebody says I wrote this once:
We never used to have humor, we had to laugh at tragedy. Used to go down to the Golden Age Home and wait for someone to die, just to have a chuckle. A funeral was as good as a variety show to us. Some days there was nothing to laugh at but the weather. A good stiff breeze blowing and we thought we were in a Vaudeville house. Even then we sometimes had nothing to laugh at but earthworks, a ditch maybe, or a wagon rut. A slight elevation or declivity was as good to us as any of your modern comedy routines. Pile up a bit of sand, and do our best to make merry. Even then we were lucky to have that. I recall the time we found a rabbit track, didn't we howl then. Many a time I spent the day giggling over a pebble or a bit of a twig no longer than your thumbnail. A slight discoloration or unevenness, even a barely perceptible stain would do us fine for a laugh or two. No we didn't have much but we made do.
