The other day my girl cousins and I were discussing memories of Sunday afternoon dinners at the home of Grandma and Grandpa Penrose. This was a common affair, which often involved pot roast. I was never a particular fan of pot roast (and still aren’t), but the potatoes and carrots were to die for (and they still are)!
All of us remembered the little round butter dish always filled with butter; none of that margarine crap. There were always slices of white bread. And milk.
Funny the kinds of things we remember out of our past, and as we celebrate another Thanksgiving, what are the little memories you bring to the table?
I should also mention my cousins also spoke of ice cream. There was always plenty of ice cream, a stash of cones, and sometimes even root beer floats, they said. I don’t remember any of that. I asked my brother if he remembered ever having ice cream at the Penroses and he didn’t remember it, either. I think Grandma liked the girl cousins better. I suggested to my brother that he and I could always make up for it now, but, alas, as he noted, that ship had already sailed.