Tootsie rolls. Tootsie pops. Big Hunk. Almond Joy. Bit of Honey. Root beer barrels. And, M&Ms. I was at the store nearly every day, pointing at one, two, and, sometimes, three candies in the glass display, which helped turn me into a roly-poly candy girl. I was barely tall enough to put my coins on the wooden counter. At the age of five, I walked by myself to Dunneville Store, which we happened to live behind. Back then in the late 50s, it was no big deal for a little girl to walk herself to the store.  I always seemed to have a penny or a nickel to buy candy on my own. I may have found coins on the ground or in the cracks of the couches. A friend once told me about a day she was visiting when I pulled some money out of a cigar box, and we walked to the store and bought a toy tea set. I don't remember this at all.  Somewhere along the line I learned that I could return empty soda bottles to the store and use the money for candy. We always had a bunch of empties because

I bet that title caught your attention. Maybe you shivered and thought I must be a vampire. Of course not!  Or, maybe you went, " Ewwwwwwww! " Well, turning blood, pork blood, to be precise, into pudding is definitely not for the squeamish. I was ten years old when the Daddy gave me the task of turning pork blood into pudding. (If I could, I'd put in a sound effect like Dum da da dummmm! ) Okay, let me give you some context. Back then, every now and then, the Daddy and his friends would purchase a pig from a local pig farmer, bring it back to our house, and slaughter it in the backyard. We lived in a small neighborhood two miles out of city limits so that was okay, and, as far as I know, the neighbors did not care.We lived in a rural area after all. This usually happened on a Saturday morning. The men would be out in the backyard partying it up with a bottle of whiskey as they butchered the meat. The pig's blood would be brought into the house to turn into a th

My  Alphabe Thursday  theme -- The Dude, The Husband The Husband is the reason that he and I, the Mama, and Molly the Cat are living together today. About 12 years ago, it became very clear to me that the Mama's health was failing. Her nutrition was poor. Her body was tiring out. Worse of all, living alone, she was lonely.  The Mama moving into a nursing home or a residential care facility was out of the question. She had a horrible time living in a skilled nursing facility for six weeks after she broke her hip. A permanent move to a residential care facility would've killed her spirit, straight and simple. At the time, the Husband and I lived about a two-and-a-half hour drive away in an urban environment. City living was not for the Mama. We were tiring of the mayhem, so we were open to moving to the rural area where I was born and raised.  The tough question was this: Could the Mama and us live in the same house? The Mama is a unique character who can be difficult

My  ABC Wednesday   theme:  The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs. . .and Fingers A note to the participants of the Blogging A-to-Z April Challenge . You can find my "A" entry (A is for Adobo, Pork Adobo) here . "The roses almost reach to your roof," said a friend of the Mama's, as the two were walking up to the house. "You need to prune them back." The Mama smiled at the lovely and so lively roses. Some were taller than her. "I already cut mine," said the friend. "That's good." "It's better that the roses are short." "I like them tall. As tall as the roof. Taller," said the lovely and so lively Mama, shuffling to the front door. It's  ABC W ednesday , a meme began by Mrs. Denise Nesbitt and headed   today by Roger Green  and his helpers.   Click  here  to read posts around today's letter L.

Click here to find other A to Z challenge participants. The clatter of metal against metal and heady aroma of frying pork, garlic, and onions lured me to the dark, cool kitchen that hot summer morning. At the stove was the Daddy's young cousin who was staying with us while on leave from the Navy. One hand shook a large grey soup pot on a burner, and the other hand stirred the ingredients rapidly with a large silver spoon that made a rhythmic clang against the inside of the pot. His body swayed and seemingly danced. The sizzle of the meat and vegetables was his music. I was maybe four or five years old. I don't recall the Mama being home, otherwise why would the handsome, dark-haired man with a sweet smile be at the Mama's stove. But, maybe that day the Daddy's cousin said to the Mama, "Let me cook." So that she could care for Baby Sister who Died too Early. Now that I think of it, that was more likely what happened. The Daddy's cousin smi