As I was eating a piece of cheesecake topped with fresh red raspberries today, the memory of grandpa’s red raspberries came to mind.
My grandpa lived in the country and always had a big garden. He grew strawberries, potatoes, carrots, radishes, tomatoes, beans, peas, sweet corn and much more. I loved eating all the bounty from his garden but my most favorite was the big red raspberries from the berry bushes along the fence.
And even though we kids were warned to stay out of the garden and berries unless grandpa was with us, we used to sometimes try to sneak in to see if we could pick and run without being seen! 😊
But alas, grandpa would always see us or catch us, (most of the time,) and then we’d get a stern talking to from him. 😊
An imaginary conversation between my cat Naomi and my dog Trixi.
“Sorry, wasn’t my fault!
I really didn’t mean to bite!”
Naomi meowed loudly.
“She pushed me right at you!”
“She only wanted to
Make us be friends” said Trixi
“Then why did you growl,
And snap at me? It scared me!”
“I wasn’t feeling friendly then”
“But now you are?”
Naomi indignantly hissed.
“Yes, we owe her that,
Don’t you agree, Naomi?
After all, your bite
Could’ve locked up her jaw!
We could have lost her!”
“Yes, but It still wasnt my fault!
Cats don’t want dogs for their friend!”
NaPoWriMo Day 7–“Prompt: “How the other tells it”
Remember an encounter with an animal.
Write a poem about the way the animal describes the encounter to its friends.
When I was about six years old I made the mistake of trying to make my newly acquired cat and my older dog to become friends.
I was holding my cat and put her up close to my feisty rat terrier dog thinking I would get them acquainted, and then hopefully they would become friends.
Just as my mom yelled at me to stop, the dog growled and snapped at the cat. The cat got scared and instead of letting her jump away free to run I held on to her and she turned on me and bit me on my cheek close to my ear.
This resulted in a very quick trip to the doctor who was a 30 minute drive away and me getting a shot of penicillin. The doctor said if mom hadn’t gotten me to him right away I might have gotten lockjaw and possibly died. This was in 1950.
I learned a hard lesson that day which I never forgot. Don’t try to force friendships on anyone, especially animals!
I was 4 years old, and it was my delight to have grandpa ask me if I wanted to come inside his old country kitchen and knead his package of margarine for him.
As a treat, he would reward me with a bottle of sarsaparilla from his refrigerator.
During World War II there was a shortage of butter in the United States, and oleomargarine (later called Oleo) became popular, except the dairy farmers banned the artificial colorings put in it that made it look like butter, therefore it was not yellow looking like butter, it had a whitish un-appetizing look kind of like lard. So to get around that law and enable a change to its looks, to make it more marketable, margarine makers created a capsule of yellow dye and placed it inside inside the plastic package of margarine.
After purchasing, the consumer could break the capsule that was inside the package, and then knead the package to distribute the dye, thus turning the margarine to a yellow color.
Around 1955, the artificial coloring laws were repealed, and margarine could once again be sold colored like butter.
That is when Oleo became very popular and was banned in many dairy states across the US.
I grew up in Lake County,
Illinois, just one mile from the Illinois-Wisconsin state border.
In Illinois Oleo was legal, in the dairy state of Wisconsin, it was not legal.
During the early 60’s there was a lot of illegal Oleo buying going on across state lines. People would come from Wisconsin into Illinois to buy cases of Oleo.
Many of the Truck Stops and gas stations along the border would sell Oleo and thus “Oleo Wars” took place as businesses would compete with each other to have the lowest prices.
My childhood alarm clock was varied, often ‘twas
Waking to the sound and smell of coffee perking.
Blurp, blurp, goes the old aluminum peculator,
A signal it was five am and mom was awake,
Bustling about the kitchen, making toast with jam.
I snuggle under the fresh smelling sheets and blankets,
Knowing I have another hour before I hear
Dad’s voice calling, “Leona! Time to get up.”
Those sounds, smells and sights are now memories
Of carefree days in my Illinois country home.