It's funny how little things can remind you of a loved one.
Being in the kitchen, sewing, laundry, fishing...those things always remind me of my Mom and Granny Rea. Working in the garden or listening to someone talk about their family...Ma White.
This past week it was the oddest thing that took me back.. a simple scrambled egg sandwich.
The first one I ever had was from Granny Rea's lunch bag. We were helping Dad clean and start closing out the Home & Auto store he managed for several years, and Dad was busy with a customer when it came time for lunch. We normally went next door to the Handy Dandy and bought a hot ham and cheese sandwich, but as the customers kept streaming in and the phone kept ringing, Granny offered me half of her sandwich. I had never heard of an egg sandwich. She opened it up to show me what it looked like. It had pepper on it. To my four year old mind, that was an instant no. But as time passed and Dad still wasn't free, and Granny kept insisting I not be a chicken and "try it" matched my hunger and I gave in. And it was good.
And several decades later, I make them for myself. And as I liberally sprinkle black pepper on it, I think of a blue-eyed niece who reminds me so much of Granny Rea but who thinks pepper will burn her mouth and stomach to pieces, and I smile. I guess history is definitely bound to repeat itself.
Being in the kitchen, sewing, laundry, fishing...those things always remind me of my Mom and Granny Rea. Working in the garden or listening to someone talk about their family...Ma White.
This past week it was the oddest thing that took me back.. a simple scrambled egg sandwich.
The first one I ever had was from Granny Rea's lunch bag. We were helping Dad clean and start closing out the Home & Auto store he managed for several years, and Dad was busy with a customer when it came time for lunch. We normally went next door to the Handy Dandy and bought a hot ham and cheese sandwich, but as the customers kept streaming in and the phone kept ringing, Granny offered me half of her sandwich. I had never heard of an egg sandwich. She opened it up to show me what it looked like. It had pepper on it. To my four year old mind, that was an instant no. But as time passed and Dad still wasn't free, and Granny kept insisting I not be a chicken and "try it" matched my hunger and I gave in. And it was good.
And several decades later, I make them for myself. And as I liberally sprinkle black pepper on it, I think of a blue-eyed niece who reminds me so much of Granny Rea but who thinks pepper will burn her mouth and stomach to pieces, and I smile. I guess history is definitely bound to repeat itself.
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