Peggy Janson is busy cooking. She's just finished making a pumpkin cake.

“Different, isn't it?,” she asks and watches closely as her guest eats, receiving a grin and headshake, yes, in return. Her blue eyes sparkle behind oblong, wire-rimmed bifocals.

But by then Janson is already back at the stove, stirring a large silver pot. As she stirs, the smell of apple and cinnamon drifts among the many do-dads and knick-knacks that fill the wall-to-wall shelves of the cozy, softly lit kitchen. Among them is a notice board, tacked full of letters cut from the Opinion section of The World newspaper.

“I love to cook,” said Janson. She leans over the pot and gives it a delicate sniff.

“I got a swell recipe from The World,” she continues. “Oatmeal Salt Cookies. I cook it and pass them around. I sent that recipe to my daughter and granddaughter. Those are so good - I made copies (of the recipe) and sent it to everyone.”

An active 85

Janson is an active 85, with a drift of silver-white hair that, when she passes through the early afternoon light streaming through a window still reveals faint traces of blonde. Perched atop her head is a white hat, circular brim turned down. Adorning its side are three broaches, one of bronze leaves inset with a pearl matching Janson's hair.

Janson smiles broadly as she listens - laughing loudly as she recalls events from her past.

For Janson, life has been a hands-on delight. A fascinating ride through the years, most of it spent in the company of her husband Sven Janson. But, unlike some who are content to watch, Janson has always liked to be involved - to speak her mind - to get her word in edge-wise.

“It's home-made applesauce,” she calls from the stove. “Would you like to have some?” And before her guest can assent, she's ladled some into a bowl. The coarsely-grained applesauce steams. It smells delicious.

“Careful now,” said Janson. “It's hot, and the apples might be too green.”

Moving back across her kitchen, Janson casts a look out the window. It's almost time for her newspaper to be delivered, and despite the magazines piled on the table; she always looks forward to reading about her town.

“It's still before 5 (p.m.),” said Janson. “But soon my little delivery boy will be coming.”

A newspaper person

“I'm a newspaper person. I love to read newspapers,” she continued. “We've taken The World forever.”

Forever in this case has been since the Jansons moved to North Bend in 1974.

“I've liked ‘em since I was a kid,” continued Janson, warming up to the topic of newspapers, “and even more, the older I've got. When I was a kid we used to get the Oregon Journal.”

Janson gets the most out of her newspaper, first reading the front page, then the back page, followed by the police reports, and the local news.

“I like to read page three, it always has something about North Bend,” said Janson. “But first I read the whole front page, and then I say, ‘Let's find out what's going on in my neighborhood.'”

Janson is provincial. She unabashedly favors her adopted community of North Bend over the rest of the Bay Area.

“I'm a North Bender, not a ‘Bay Areaian!” she declares.

Janson has her favorite topics, too. Near the top are the daily police reports, a must-read item.

“I like to find out who's robbing who on Broadway,” she said, and grinned impishly.

As Janson talks she uses her hands to communicate her point, often hooking the air with her thumb, or spreading her hands and arms in a circle to show how big something was. To illustrate a point she will reach out and paint invisible images in the air, punctuating her points, as if her gentle flow of words weren't powerful enough.

Through it all she smiles, sharing her delight at life and its strange, wonderful turns.

One place where she finds those delightful tidbits is The World's Opinion page which she's contributed to regularly for over 30 years. Janson's not shy. She loves to get involved and read her own words in print.

“I like to write letters,” Janson said, and rubbed her hands together. Rising, she dug into a shelf, emerging with a small box overflowing with newspaper clippings, some yellowed with age, others more recent.

‘Here, read this!'

“Here,” she said, extending a clipping, “read this!”

It's a letter to The World's Managing Editor Kathy Erickson, a person whom Janson has corresponded with for years. But before the clipping can be read, it's abruptly retracted and another proffered in its place. Janson is enthusiastically digging into the box, finding treasure after treasure, and she can't wait to share.

“Look at this one,” she said, “September 27, 2002, ‘Praise for some outstanding women.'”

Leaning back into her chair, Janson looks out the window for a moment, then launches back into conversation.

“You've got to write letters,” she explained. She's earnest, no trace of a smile. “And I think that it's wonderful that they print 'em - to have one printed, well, it's a wonderful, wonderful feeling. A great feeling.”

Janson writes regularly, with clipping after yellowing clipping from the box attesting to her diligence.

“I write letters to the editor when I think of something,” she said.

Some of the letters are brief, only a few lines, others are lengthy. Common themes include her love of and allegiance to North Bend, praise of people who perform public service, words of thanks, commentary on other letters, and some sometimes admittedly ribald political opinion.

“I'm a democrat,” said Janson, and smiled engagingly, “I can't help it.”

But not all of the letters sent into the newspaper can be printed. There is only so much space.

“The last one Š I don't think she liked that,” said Janson. “I told her (Erickson), ‘You didn't print my letter, you really know who to hurt a guy.' ”

Still, Janson admits to affection for Erickson, someone she has never met.

“I'm not anything special,” said Janson. “I'm just me, and I've never met the woman. But I like her. I've talked with her a couple times on the phone, and I like that picture of her in the paper - she looks cute.

“And I know about her, she went to school in Inglewood. Š”

Janson pauses and her smile lights her seamed, expressive features.

“You see,” she said, hands gently hovering for emphasis, “I like her. I could go down there anytime I want and meet her, but then, the thrill would be gone.”

Her hands return to the box of letters, which she restlessly stirs. Then she looks up and the smile is back.

“I'm glad you came so I could read all of this stuff,” she said. “This is kind of fun.”

Physical challenges

At 85, Janson has some physical challenges. She has diabetes, has lost almost all of the vision out of her left eye, and now her right eye is also dimming. She reacted to the news with her characteristic determination.

“My doctor told me that I had diabetes and I got so mad at him,” recalls Janson. “He noticed and asked ‘Why?' I said, ‘Nobody tells me that I'm sick!'”

Janson knows she's slowing down, but won't go quietly, as a recent letter to pen-pal Erickson stated.

“I hope this will not be my last letter,” she wrote. “Getting old is not fun. I am only 85. My eyes are almost gone. I am tired and diabetic. But I still walk about a mile every day. It is getting colder in the mornings, but that is why we have sweaters.”

Janson intends to keep writing, and sharing her opinions “as long as I can, I guess,” she said. She also encourages others to join in the fun by getting involved.

“You think about something and write it down,” she said. “It makes you feel good when they print it and people know how you feel.

“I just like the news,” she said and cast another look out the window.

It was almost 5 p.m. Where was that paperboy, anyway?