What a pretty morning! A slight breeze sways the pine branches. Not a cloud is in the sky, the spectacularly blue sky. Today will be in the low 50’s. Tonight will be in the 30’s. I have a couple of errands which will get me out to enjoy the day. I’m finally going to get those pansies.

When I was a kid, my mother made dinners she knew we’d all eat. We never saw broccoli or cauliflower. Spinach was Popeye’s choice, not ours. The only salads she made were potato, tuna and chicken, never green salad. I didn’t eat beans, but I loved peas. We knew we’d have potatoes at dinner. Mostly they were mashed, but sometimes they were oven fried. Corn was a frequent all season veggie, canned in winter, fresh in summer. My father was the champion at eating corn off the cob. His approach reminded me of typewriter keys moving side to side and up and down. He went so fast that if you sat beside him you got sprayed with flying pieces of corn. For dessert we’d grab some cookies, Oreos, if it was close to when my mother grocery shopped as they disappeared quickly. Chocolate chip was a close second. My mother would sometimes surprise us with brownies. She’d make them then frost them with chocolate frosting and jimmies (sprinkles to some of you). I remember the pan she always used. I can still see it in my mind’s eye.

I remember when my mother visited we often went shopping. We’d stop at a few antique stores. In one there were individual tables and bookcases. I watched a woman adding to her wares. She put down four nested tulip bowls, Fire King bowls. My mother had had a set when I was growing up so I decided to buy the bowls. I still use them, and every time I do, I am reminded of my mother. What a treasure!

When both of my parents came down, my mother and I shopped while my father worked around my front yard. He weeded and mowed. He loved yard work. When I visited them, he’d show me his front lawn. It was his pride and joy.

Henry started barking by the front door. It was his intruder bark. I checked but didn’t see anything or anyone then I heard the mail truck. Henry is not a fan of that truck, and the mailman is not a Henry fan. If he has a package for my house, he leaves it at the end of the walk. Henry keeps barking. That’s all he does as he hasn’t yet learned to open the door. I hope he never does.

This entry was posted on April 11, 2026 at 12:13 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. You can comment below, or link to this permanent URL from your own site.