In my mind, I'm five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm now approaching my late 60s, wowza! I tell you a lot of creativity is still to be found in this old young self. In you, too, whatever your age. Welcome to my barefoot world!
The parents liked fresh meat and they believed it was cheaper to purchase a pig (or cow or chicken), slaughter and butcher the animal, and freeze the parts for when you wanted to cook. Because the cost of purchasing a pig was high, the parents often bought it with one or more friends. They didn't bring the pig to the butcher though, as part of the pig-buying event was the camaraderie among the men as they slaughtered and butchered the pig in our backyard. A bottle, or two, of whiskey also figured into the festivity. Every part of the pig was used. Everything. For instance, the blood was directly drained from the pig into a pot. The right amount of vinegar was added to the blood and it was beat with a hand mixer until it coagulated into a thick pudding. The blood was used for a pork dish known as dinardaraan, which the Filipinos would call Chocolate Meat as they served it to children or non-Filipinos. Along with the whiskey, Daddy always served his compadres a meal of the fres
Update : May 20, 2013 Today, I decided to merge the old and new blogs. There are just too many posts from "This and That. Here and There. Now, Sometimes Then" that I want to keep alive. ~Su- sieee ! Mac It has been over two months since my last post. I have mumbled several times to the husband, "I'm going to stop blogging This and That . Each time, he replied, "I thought you already have." Yeah. Well. I finally am. This is it. My last post. For this blog, that is. I've decided to start another blog. The husband will be surprised. The new blog is called Don't Be a Hippie. . . Now and Then . Its focus is more selfish. I shall be revealing as much as I dare about myself through my memories, stories of my elders, and everyday experiences. At least that's what I think. Thank you Dear Readers and fellow Bloggers for your kindly visits and generous support. I hope you'll stop by my new blog. ~ Su- sieee! Mac
This was originally published in November, 2010 at my experimental "Don't Be a Hippie" at Wordpress.com. The one and only post. Today's version has been slightly revised. I don't know why you need to know. About 40 years ago, on a particular day, I was getting myself ready to go hang out at school. Not high school. But, community college. I was 18 or 19 and living at home. The daddy was retired. He happened to be home on this certain day. He may have been getting ready to go out to hang out with his retired buddies. I was in my bedroom doing whatever, when the daddy stopped at my door. I looked over at him, and he said, "Don't be a hippie." Before I could respond, he walked away. I had no idea he knew there were such things as hippies. Most of all, I didn't think I had it in me to be a hippie. I was not very good at being part of a group that had a moniker to it. Still. I wonder what may have caused my dad to reach the conclusi