Today in My History

2000:  A Walk in the Woods
What a Bitch!
Loud as a Whisper

I Wonder What the Inner Brotherhood Does for Cramp
Mario Savio and Me

Internet Stars
Leaping Lizard and Me
Follow the Bouncing Boob
2008: Information Overload
2009: Simply Shocking
2010:  Welcome to D.C.
All's Right with the World
2012: Sunday Stealing
2014: Rhyme and Reason

Bitter Hack
Updated: 10/7
"5 Lesbians Eating a Quiche"

Books Read in 2015
 Updated: 10/5
"The Escape"

Mirror Site for RSS Feed:
Airy Persiflage

Letters from Michael & James
Letters from Lavenda, Brightone and Samuel

The Philosophy of Juice & Crackers

The story of Delicate Pooh

The story of the Pinata Group

Who IS this Gilbert person anyway?

mail to Walt

mail to Bev  


8 October 2015

The prompt for today is;

What dish did you dread being served as a kid?

I think my mother finally stopped trying to serve me liver, but it took awhile.  Vile, nasty stuff and though people have told me I haven't had it with enough onions or enough bacon, I'm sorry, there is not enough bacon in the world to make it taste better.  It was the one problem I had with the Weight Watchers diet.  We were supposed to eat liver once a week and there just was no way I was going to do that.  How delighted I was some years ago when there was a warning about the danger of eating liver. I felt vindicated!

I also, believe it or not, hated eating raw carrots.  Cooked carrots were OK, but there was something about the texture of raw carrots that my mouth could not handle.  I would chew and chew and chew and look like a cow chewing its cud, but the only way that masticated mess would go down my throat was if I drank a lot of water and forced it down.  I don't have that problem today, however.

My grandmother often tried new things.  I still remember the celery root salad she made which I hated so much that to this day I have not eaten celery root.  And there was a celery and cranberry salad my mother tried one Christmas which, though I enjoy all the ingredients, made me so nauseated that I have not eaten anything similar since.

But basically I was not a picky eater.  Put enough butter on anything (except liver) and I would like it.

My sister, however, was a different story.  She was a very picky eater and the rule was that you could not leave the table until you had finished your dinner.

At that time, my mother had an "ironer" sitting in the kitchen.  See the legs that the machine sits on?  Well, it turns out that those legs are actually hollow.

I don't know how long it was before the day when my mother noticed mashed potatoes around the small hole opening into the hollow part of the ironer legs.  That's when she discovered that Karen had been pushing all her unwanted food down the legs and that was how she earned the right to leave the table.

My sister was definitely creative.

Today I had coffee with two long-time friends.  Ironically, I had coffee with Jessica  "Moms" Brown almost exactly a year ago, and at that time Kari had stopped by to chat with us.  After much back and forth on who could make it again, on which date, we finally met this morning, and what fun it was.  The usual "organ recital," and discussions of memory problems, our own and our parents', health care in this country and how we feel about our doctors, how to stay young (and the relative nature of "old age"), what our kids are doing, what we've been doing (tho since both Kari and Jess read this journal sometimes, I didn't need to tell them much!) and the plight of society today with regard to spelling, cursive writing, and other things.  Always fun to meet with intelligent women and discuss mutual topics of interest.  (Best of all, the word "Trump" was not uttered.)


Jess, Kari and me at
Mishka's cafe  -- one year later


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