From the mailbag:
This writer's most recent offering presented in the Mennonite Historical Bulletin included a list of "you know you are an aging Mennonite when . . ." On the list was a comment about remembering the holy kiss (which of course, is no longer practiced by mainstream Mennonites). An interesting reply came from a writer in Michigan who states:

"I read with interest your article in the Mennonite Historical Bulletin. I remember when my parents were entertaining and housing some Mennonite leaders in our home when I was quite young. I would love to listen in on their conversations. One time they were discussing the holy kiss. Evidently C. F. Derstine, a popular Ontario evangelist, did not like to be kissed on the mouth with the holy kiss. It seemed to be common knowledge among the ministers that at the last second C.F. would lift his head and the kissing brother would hit his chin. According to my recollection, this became a game for the other ministers who would try and beat him to the draw and kiss him on the lips. I remember that at the time I wondered…Holy? Kiss?"

Fun food. Food that makes one smile!

One of the questions I ask people when we look at their humor background is this: "Were mealtimes fun times at your house?" It is interesting to see the variety of answers to these questions, particularly among Mennonite families. Some families used "suppertime" as a time to review the day and discipline the children. Others found the supper hour to be a time of celebration, light-heartedness and fun. However, beyond meals, it occurred to me that various households had a short or long list of fun foods.

Here are some of the fun foods from my childhood and how I viewed them.

1. Ice cream, but not just any old ice cream, but two special kinds of ice cream.
· Homemade. The first kind of ice cream was homemade, hand-cranked, everybody-helped-turn-the-crank-is-it-ready-yet type of ice cream, with about thirty percent cream. This was fun food because it always signified a get-together with friends or relatives and lots of food. Later, when we boys learned more about mechanics, we figured out a way to hook up the ice cream churn to a tractor power take-off. So much for the everybody-help idea. The point is, it was fun food! Just thinking about it makes me smile.
· Boxed ice cream. Smith Dairy in Orrville, Ohio sold the second kind of ice cream. On the way to my grandmother Lehman's house from Burton City, North Lawrence or Dalton, (depending upon where we were living at the time), we would stop at the Smith Dairy outlet on Market Street and pick up several pints of ice cream. This ice cream came in wax-covered cardboard containers. Then, when we arrived at Grandmother Christina's house, Dad would carefully perform the ritual of taking out his pocketknife, opening the blade, and cutting each pint of ice cream in half. The open face of ice cream became the top. Each of us children would get a half-pint of ice cream, a flat, small wooden spoon with which to eat it and a place to sit. The celebration would begin. Good memories, good ice cream.

2. Popcorn.
· Freshly popped. We lived on the farm and rarely came in contact with the processed junk food such as potato chips, snacking crackers, or pretzels. That came much later. However, almost like clockwork on Sunday evenings, Mother would get out the big skillet and would pop corn on top of the stove. With seven children, a few foster children and often a guest or two, it seemed as though mother could barely keep ahead of the foraging youngsters. Oh, yes, it was popped in butter and heavily salted. It was truly fun food, even if it was not health food. The memories of the smells and salty, buttery taste make me smile.
· Popcorn balls. These were the pull-your-loose-tooth-right-out-of-your-head type popcorn balls. They were reserved for Christmastime and were made by a single lady who lived down the road. Popcorn balls were her specialty. You could always count on getting a navel orange and one of Lydia's popcorn balls at church some Sunday evening during December. We loved it. Each of us had his or her own softball-sized popcorn ball and we did not have to share it with anyone, not even Shep or Fezer, the hungry dogs that scampered to get a bite. Fun food. I remember.

3. Taffy.
· Perhaps it was the social setting that made this "food" a fun food. It was always related to a gathering of young people and buttery hands. The way it worked was quite simple. Someone knew the recipe for taffy and would cook the batch in a large pan. At just the right time the taffy batch was poured out onto waxed paper. As the hot, syrupy, sticky goo began to cool, each person would get a big handful. Sometimes it was almost too hot and there were some minor burns. But usually it was a matter of stretching the taffy back and forth, allowing air to get into the mix and turning the clear batch into frosty taffy. Some young people would stretch the taffy back and forth between their hands, in pairs, making long, sagging strips and then reuniting the gooey mass to stretch it again. Ouch, too hot! Ah, just right. As the taffy ropes were rolled out onto waxed paper, they were cut into bite-sized pieces, allowed to cool, and distributed among all who helped in the festivities. Fun food, er, candy.

4. Lima beans.
· All right, so I may be alone on this one. Baby lima beans are delicious - at least the way Mother made them. She always made a white sauce, or at least a butter-type sauce, and the little lima beans were cooked just right. Ymmmm! It meant that the summer harvest was going on in full swing, with peaches soon, and sweet corn, and the bustle of canning. Maybe it was the fact that I was the only one in my family that really liked lima beans. Maybe it was just that Mother always asked me if I wanted her to cook up some lima beans. Maybe it is all a myth and none of this ever happened. Wherever the truth lies, I liked lima beans the first time I tasted them and they make me smile.

5. Oyster soup.
· My father was a barber all his life. He would often barber on Friday evenings and then again all day Saturday, late into the evening. It was a way to keep the family budget from sagging too far. On rare occasions - I guess it would be about once a year - Dad would bring home a can of oysters and announce that tomorrow, Sunday, we were going to have oyster soup. (Actually, Dad was a friend of our local grocer, Mr. Berg, who would tell Dad when a fresh shipment of oysters had arrived.) It is no longer clear to me whether my father actually made the soup or mother produced the savory slurry, but we looked forward to the taste of this special treat. Not only was the soup special, but also it was the only time Mom would buy oyster crackers. I never was certain why one could not use saltine-type crackers for this occasion, but oyster crackers were the order of the day. Oyster soup, special soup, hot soup, and memories. It makes me smile.