A Strange Rememerance

I had the oddest recollection last night in a dream.  Mostly, my dreams are of past events and jobs like when I wake up and wish I could retire and then suddenly realize I have and am grateful.

But for some reason, I dreampt a true story that Grampa told me about his days in a shelter house during the Great Depression and why he had a scar on the back of his hand. 

He said he was sitting at the community house table and they actually had pork chops.  He claimed the lights went out while there was one pork chop left on the center plate.  He got there first but the guy next to him went at it with a fork.  Hence his scar.

I know it is probably an old joke.  I bet the true story would have been better (but more personal).  But he went through some hard times in the Great Depression and that was likely the kindest way he could joke about it years later when I was a grandchild.

I always loved picking beans with him, and then later, pulling off the strings with Gramma.  I had such great memories of them both and they died when I went off to college.  Grampa is why I'm an organic gardener, and Gramma is why I learned to cook.  And she taught me to play cards and games.  She was lethal at them and never let me win when I didn't deserve to.  Taught me to THINK HARD.

You know, sometimes I think I only blog to unspool my life...