paste-eaters anonymous

Butter and Gas

During wartimes, my grandparents and my parents learned to "make do." I stumbled upon some ration coupons in an antique store and thought how valuable they must have been at the time, now only for sentimental reasons. The fragile paper brought back stories my parents would tell me of the War. Everyone played a part; my father was an Army man, my mother made diodes for bombs in the war effort. My grandmother, making meals with what she had, worried as two of her sons were prisoners-of-war. 

Gas was limited. Butter a luxury.

Thank a veteran today. Thank their loved ones, too. 

They're Good For Your Heart

We don't cook turkey on Thanksgiving. The Husband isn't wild about any of the typical feast fare and unlike me, he doesn't live to eat. But I'm not heartbroken about not having the traditional meal because I know there will be those folks begging me to take the last of the pie, turkey and other trimmings come Sunday or Monday. So I make what he does like, which is baked beans.

We started the day with Coma Rolls, what I like to call my homemade cinnamon buns. There is so much butter and sugar in these things that unless you have a supply of insulin handy, you best prepare for a long nap. Which we did. Those parades are overrated anyway.

The meal itself was presented around 4 o'clock; beans, homemade bread, a green salad and Indian pudding (or, as I had to qualify, Native American Indian pudding). It's a traditional New England dish baked with cornmeal and molasses and a real pain in the ass to make if you don't have a double boiler. In case you were wondering. It's really good with vanilla ice cream. But what isn't.

Then we headed off to a friends for more dessert and to referee two brothers in their forties pelting each other with cat toys.

We know how to be thankful.

Remember

4563

tener partido el corazón--an update

Lisbeth, I want to thank you for all you gave for this country. Your brown eyes and gentle smile will stay with me forever, haunting, because you remind me of my sister.

I was never for the war. I doubt many soldiers are, too, but they know that there are hard decisions to be made. They understand sacrifice and the costs of taking a stand for what we believe in.

You were fighting for me and I am forever grateful.  I have learned from this war to be mindful that there is more than one side to every story, That there's not a "right" opinion or a "wrong" opinion. That the heart plays a very strong role in these decisions, and Lisbeth, you had heart.

This war has made me aware of what's really important in life. I believe others have learned this lesson as well. Your sacrifice was not in vain; we may yet become a more compassionate, understanding, and united nation.

Gracias, Lisbeth. Rest in peace.