The bride used to whup up a mean skillet of vermicelli when the kids was yonkers and they would wolf it down like they was huggin' a hound.
Asking fer "thirds", they would want to know what manna from heaven had fallen in their plates. Mama would reply, "Hog mutton a la mode". Our chilluns would gratefully parrot, "More hog mutton a la mode Mama".
The ranch hand figgers all folks that grow up "poor" have similar stories.
In Wright City, our tongues used to spank our tonsils when Mom would fry some Spam or salt pork and we would be placed in instant grocery gratification. Let her put a slice or two in an offering of baloney before it went in the Crisco and we were slobberin' like a team of sled dawgs?
Hey, we were fed, clothed, loved, and had an only semi-leaking roof over our heads.
How much better can life be?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment