Did you ever enter a contest as a kid? Long ago, many brands aimed at kids used national write-in contests to promote their products. All you needed was a boxtop or two. Plus an envelope and a stamp. A first-class stamp cost three cents back in 1940. Sometimes it was just a matter of mailing in a coupon and then watching your mailbox for a free comic book (or, if you remember Ralphie from A Christmas Story, a secret decoder…
How far back can you remember? My earliest memories (as told here) involve brother Dave dropping eggs on the floor, and the arrival of my first feather pillow. As of a few weeks ago, I can piece together a third: My first taste of maple sugar candy. This memory’s missing piece surfaced in December, as an early gift, when I found this: Oh, boy! Dad and Mom were planning a getaway to Vermont! Back in 1961, there were no websites…
Isn’t it amazing how a sound, a smell, or a taste can spark a memory from long ago? Mom was 68 years old when she wrote this poem. Green olives, it seems, didn’t just awaken her taste buds, they ignited a spark that took her thoughts happily back many decades. Study Alone with olivesfour on a gold plateI think of sun and trees and comfortand my Aunt Maywho loved them They make me laughtouting their red tonguesfor teasing tastingour Harry…
“Oh, boy! Stinky cheese!” Dad sure knew how to clear a room. He was crazy about pungent cheese and all the drama his eating it entailed. Maybe it was the Frenchy-Frenchman side of him? We kids would run for cover while he all but inhaled chunks of Camembert, Munster, and Feta. Phew! As a child, I remember begging Mom to let me wait for her outside of a food shop in Pittsfield, a store that specialized (or so it seemed)…
While adding to Farmer Gary‘s side of our family tree, it’s a treat to share newly discovered family stories (and family members) with him. Our conversation the other evening began with, “Your dad was first cousins with her mom. Still, I can’t help but think Joan Wharton and my mom would have been great friends.” It’s been somewhat of a scramble climbing from one side of our family tree to the other, but well worth it. Joan Wharton didn’t grow…
Farmer Gary and I don’t usually make a big deal out of Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s just four days after February 10, the anniversary of the day we met. That’s our holiday. Still, I wanted to make something special to warm Gary’s innards, as he’d been outside shoveling soybeans yesterday. Something that says “I love you madly,” but in a bowl. Bean soup it was. As Lent approaches, Gary and I swap “giving up” stories from our youth. Although…
This year, Thanksgiving falls on the third anniversary of Mom’s passing. Anyone who’s grieved a loved one’s death knows the sadness is unpredictable. Sometimes it sneaks in with a sigh; other times it clobbers you like a mallet and takes your breath away. But you learn, bit by bit, to “carry on” and do your best. And so I dug around this week for a Thanksgiving poem, knowing how Mom loved the holiday and the gathering of family and friends….
I have a feeling this is going to bug me every November for the rest of my days. I can’t find the recipe card Mom sent me with the simple instructions for pie crust. Forty years ago as a young bride, I asked Mom to send me some of her favorite family recipes. We talked on the phone at great length and built our list: Meatloaf, Potato Salad, Surprise Pie, Mayonnaise Cake, Banana Bread, Three-Bean Salad, and … pie crust….
When I picked up a century-old cookbook we’d brought home from my parents’ house and saw it was published by a baking powder company, I could hear one thing. It was Dad’s voice from the 1970s: “Keep your powder dry!” as he tried to calm whatever situation was erupting in our house full of teens. When I mentioned this to Farmer Gary, he quickly explained the source: “Actually, that’s a reference to gunpowder.” Indeed, it’s credited to Oliver Cromwell, advising…
“Cold soup? Ewww!” Poor Dad had just arrived home from a business trip to the Phoenix area and was excited to tell us about the new foods he’d enjoyed. I, for one, was not the least bit tempted by the thought of cold tomato soup full of chopped fresh vegetables. But for Dad, this was a heavenly combination. He loved vegetables. Especially fresh, home-grown veggies. From the date of Mom‘s poem, below, I can guess she took a train and…