DEAR ABBY: My wife and I have been reading your column for years and always enjoy it. I would like to share with you my "lady luck" story.

In 1930 I went to a wedding celebration in the neighborhood. During the evening, one of the boys took a pair of sugar cubes and inked dots on them so they looked like dice. He said to another fellow and me, "Let's roll the dice to see who gets to walk Mary home and get a goodnight kiss." Mary agreed with a smile. I was tickled because I was "stuck" on her.

I won the dice game and walked Mary home. Being somewhat nervous I kept talking until she finally said, "Well, are you going to collect your kiss?" I did, and it was wonderful. I asked her to a dance the following weekend and that started our courtship. Remember, Abby, these were Depression years, so our courtship was very modest.

On April 8, 1934, we were married. This year, we celebrated our 62nd anniversary. When our doctor heard how long we've been married, he exclaimed, "That's remarkable. Some people don't live that long!"

Today we have three wonderful children, eight grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. They all adore "Grammy" because they have fond memories of her pampering them with treats such as turtle-shaped pancakes, chocolate-covered cookies, yummy fruit salad, etc.

We're both in our 80s now, but I will never forget the night "lady luck" really smiled on me! -- HANK SHOBAR, LARKSPUR, CALIF.

DEAR HANK: Thanks for the memories that will delight many readers who are old enough to appreciate them.

DEAR ABBY: Recently you told your readers that people don't write letters because they are busier now and communicate in ways that don't take that much time. I take issue with the statement about how busy people are today compared with a few years ago, and I submit this poem from The Bald Eagle, a newsletter of the Lecompton Historical Society of Lecompton, Kan. -- PAT CASTRO, RAMONA, CALIF.

MAMA'S MAMA

Mama's mama, on a winter's day,

Milked the cows and fed them hay,

Slopped the hogs, saddled the mule,

And got the children off to school.

Did a washing, mopped the floors,

Washed the windows and did some chores,

Cooked a dish of home-dried fruit,

Pressed her husband's Sunday suit.

Swept the parlor, made the bed,

Baked a dozen loaves of bread.

Split some wood and lugged it in,

Enough to fill the kitchen bin,

Cleaned the lamps and put in oil,

Stewed some apples she thought might spoil,

Churned the butter, baked a cake,

Then exclaimed, "For goodness sake!

The calves have got out of the pen!"

Went out and chased them in again.

Gathered the eggs and locked the stable,

Returned to the house and set the table.

Cooked a supper that was delicious,

And afterward washed all the dishes,

Fed the cat, sprinkled the clothes,

Mended a basket full of hose.

Then opened the organ and began to play,

"When You Come to the End of a Perfect Day."

For Abby's favorite family recipes, send a long, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $3.95 ($4.50 in Canada) to: Dear Abby, Cookbooklet No. 1, P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, Ill. 61054-0447. (Postage is included.)

DEAR ABBY: My mother, who is a young 79 years old, has started eating like an old cow with bad teeth! She never closes her mouth any more when she eats; she chews with her mouth wide open, making smacking noises with each chew. It is very unappetizing to sit across from her at mealtime. Mom is active socially and goes to lunch and dinner with friends, and I wonder how many of them find her eating habits offensive.

Mom never ate like this before. In fact, when I was growing up, she often said, "Chew with your mouth closed!" Abby, I don't want to say anything to her because she doesn't take criticism well. I'm afraid if I said something to her, I'd get the silent treatment for about a week.

Maybe if she reads this in your column, she will recognize herself. I hope so, because not only is it unpleasant to sit across the table from her at dinnertime, I fear she will soon be excluded from lunch and dinner dates with her ladyfriends. -- A LOVING SON

DEAR SON: Don't wait for Mom to recognize herself in my column. Be a truly loving son and take her to a dentist who specializes in older adults.

DEAR ABBY: Perhaps you or one of your readers can tell me why so many people are reluctant to use the guest towels in the homes of people they visit.

I have a basket with soft pink paper towels on the counter next to the sink, but rarely does anybody use one.

Instead, I see "used" places on the heavy pink bath towels that hang from the towel bars. I can understand their preference not to use the terry towel that's there, but why do they shun paper and go for the freshly laundered bath towels? I feel I need to launder them again so they will be fresh for the family.

I've considered displaying a little sign saying "Please use the guest towels," but I'm afraid that would look tacky.

Abby, have others noticed the same thing in their homes? I'd love to understand people's thinking, or hear any suggestions you have. Sign me ... TIRED IN TUCSON

DEAR TIRED: Yes. It's happened to me. I've even had guests dry their hands on the bathroom window curtains rather than use a guest towel.

Five years ago, I published a letter from Mildred Lutz of Wichita, Kan., who asked the same question. I responded with a poem from another reader who had grown tired of having guests ignore her pretty little guest towels ... and here's the poem:

A GUEST TOWEL SPEAKS

by Mabel Craddock, Ventura, Calif.

Please use me, Guest;

Don't hesitate.

Don't turn your back

Or vacillate.

Don't dry your hands

On petticoat,

On handkerchief,

Or redingote.

I'm here to use;

I'm made for drying.

Just hanging here

Gets very tiring.

For everything you need to know about wedding planning, order "How to Have a Lovely Wedding." Send a business-sized, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $3.95 ($4.50 in Canada) to: Dear Abby, Wedding Booklet, P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, Ill. 61054-0447. (Postage is included.)

DEAR ABBY: I am an 84-year-old woman who would like to play the devil's advocate, but in this case, I would like to know who the devil is.

An officer of the law, whose job it is to reprimand anyone who is breaking the law, must drive 80 to 100 miles an hour on a freeway, chasing someone who is endangering the lives of everyone on the freeway, including himself.

Abby, how can we expect a police officer (who doesn't know whether he will go home to his wife and kids that night) to drive at breakneck speed for an hour or more, and keep his composure when he finally catches up with the criminal? If he's human, he will lash out at the culprit. Then, it seems to me, everyone is appalled at the behavior of the police officer -- instead of the one who is breaking the law.

Ten-to-one, the criminal is high on something, and though the marks on him are visible, I'll bet he didn't feel the blows as much as the high he was getting on the substance, which gave him the courage to drive that fast.

What say you, Abby? -- ELEANOR FROM BROOKLYN

DEAR ELEANOR: I can understand your frustration, but tolerating police brutality will not reduce our crime rate. The police are trained (and paid) to apprehend criminals. They are NOT vigilantes who may enforce their own code of punishment.

All citizens would be in great danger if taking the law into our own hands became acceptable.

DEAR ABBY: What is your opinion of people who take photographs -- and, in some instances, motion pictures -- of strangers in a public area without their permission?

I am not referring to celebrities, but the general public. -- A.O. IN LOS ANGELES

DEAR A.O.: Photographing strangers without permission is a clear invasion of their privacy. Most people may have no objections, but on the chance that they do, they should be asked first.

DEAR ABBY: Some time ago, you reprinted a brief essay about death. I don't remember the exact wording, but the gist of the piece was likening the individual to a ship -- seen by one group of people as leaving, and at the same time seen by another group as arriving.

This piece impressed me so much that I want it to be read at my funeral.

I wasn't able to keep the newspaper. If you recognize this essay, will you please print it again? -- ELAINE HARPER, NASHVILLE, TENN.

DEAR ELAINE: The piece was titled "A Parable of Immortality," by Henry Van Dyke. Not only have I published it before, it's also in my "Keepers" booklet. Here it is:

"I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength, and I stand and watch until at last she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sun and sky come down to mingle with each other. Then someone at my side says, 'There she goes!'

"Gone where? Gone from my sight -- that is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and just as able to bear her load of living freight to the places of destination.

"Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says, 'There she goes!' there are other eyes watching her coming and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, 'Here she comes!'"

To receive a collection of Abby's most memorable -- and most frequently requested -- poems and essays, send a business-sized, self-addressed envelope, plus check or money order for $3.95 ($4.50 in Canada) to: Dear Abby's "Keepers," P.O. Box 447, Mount Morris, Ill. 61054-0447. (Postage is included.)