On a friend's blog today I read about sandwiches she used to eat as a child. That made me remember that mom used to fix me (or let me fix?) a ketchup sandwich or two. We'd put them in a little orange, plastic picnic basket and I'd walk over to my great-grandmother's (we called her Memaw) to visit. I think Memaw couldn't believe that mom let me eat ketchup sandwiches. They really are good, you know, especially on very fresh, white bread.
I can't believe that Memaw used to let us stick a straw in an orange to suck the juice out, instead of making us eat the orange. She always had lemon drops for us as well and Chicken 'n' Biscuit crackers (I think that's what they were.) All of those things tasted so good at her house.
Memaw always did mom's ironing. She loved to iron. When I was at her house, she would lower the ironing board and let me iron dad's handkerchiefs. I'd work very hard at it and put the finished, neatly pressed and folded kerchiefs in a pile on her TV--remember the big console ones?
I seem to remember that she always had a little "something" in her electric skillet on the counter. She'd warm that up for her supper, I guess. It's amazing that she didn't die from food poisoning. My other great-grandmother would leave all the dishes leftover from Sunday dinner out. She'd just cover them and heat them up later. (and I seem to have survived my childhood unscathed) Now we kill ourselves to get everything in the refrigerator.
It's amazing how mention of one thing can lead you down a road of happy memories. It's also amazing that I grew up knowing two great-grandmothers. Oh to go back to the simple time of childhood and ketchup sandwiches.