Posts tagged ‘childhood’

Sunday Dinner

As with most of my stories, this one has a familiar beginning:

When I was a kid….

We used to have pizza every single Saturday. Saturday was Pizza Night.  Clearly we were healthy kids.

Well, on Sundays, my mom used to go all out and cook a really well rounded meal.  Some sort of meat. Pork chops. Meatloaf. Or the most common, pot roast.  Then we’d have some starches.  Mashed potatoes. Scalloped potatoes. Basically lots of potatoes. There would be rolls. And sliced cucumbers (though she doesn’t eat anything green – ever).  And corn. And a glass of milk.

It’s possible I’m forgetting something but you get the gist of it – there was some serious home cooking going down.  And it was fantastic.  Pretty much the only time my family ate together at the table.

So, when I remembered this fond memory last week I set out to recreate it for John and I.  Let’s see. There were super tasty, well seasoned steaks (courtesy of John).  Seasoned redskin potatoes baked in my snazzy vintage Pyrex (though next time we’ll cook them longer). And a new favorite of mine – asparagus tips.

Enjoy our Sunday dinner.

I really missed out on some tasty green foods as a kid.

I really missed out on some tasty green foods as a kid.

Smokin steaks anyone?

Smokin steaks anyone?

Really, potatoes? Do you have to be so tasty?

Really, potatoes? Do you have to be so tasty?


October 14, 2009 at 1:31 am 8 comments

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

Do you ever wonder if the things you remember from your past are fact or fiction?

As someone who relies heavily on my past for my daily banter, I try to look past the possibility that my memories could be inaccurate.  But sometimes it gets to me a little bit.  Some of my memories are so completely vivid and real to me but when I say them out loud for whatever reason they seem a little ridiculous.

Did that older kid really save my stuffed Penny dog from 101 Dalmations when those mean kids tried to dump it down the sewer by the string leash I had on it? Doesn’t make too much sense.  But I remember it completely. But then again, I remember my dreams vividly too.

So how do you tell the difference between a memory of a dream and a memory of life?  Is it when you say the memory out loud and realize that some of the details make absolutely no sense?

I’d prefer to think that everything I remember is accurate and true.  Because I remember dreams I had too. Like being pushed off a cliff in a pink chest by my friends at age 10.  And I can tell that ones fake.

Besides, that memory of the stuffed dog caper is what made me have the biggest crush on my doggie hero.  He’s in the air force now.  Swoon.

March 25, 2009 at 2:39 am 3 comments


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