As I munched on some today, I thought of how these potatoes, for whatever reasons, were not chosen for the first and finest batches, and yet I love them more than perfectly shaped and colored chips.
They reminded me of life. Some of us get knocks and bruises. We come in all sizes and colors. The final outcome is not what fits into a perfect mold. But oh the character, the flavor, the uniqueness we posses at the end of the day. Don’t sell yourself short. Don’t let anyone tell you you’ve gone too far, messed up too badly, failed to miserably, to be made into something lovely and desirable. You are worth it, you are loved, and your experiences are what makes you who you are.
I was talking with mother-in-law about these Sears “wish books” recently. Nostalgia almost swept me off my feet when she found these 1992-1993 Fall/Winter annual and 1993 Spring/Summer annual treasures in her basement. We didn’t order much from these because most everything was “too worldly,” but I would page through each one when they came and daydream about what I would get if it wasn’t worldly and we could afford it. (We mostly used them for our hineys to make us sit taller on the benches at the supper table.) Paging through them again brought back special memories of a child dreaming about something far beyond her reach, but I loved dreaming.
We had a beautiful gloomy rainy day. At the very end the sun broke through for a glorious display. I was reminded of a hymn from my childhood, “Lo, Behold The Western Sky,” by Ruth R Martin and Carol Stroop, copyright 1985.
I made four batches of fresh buttermilk biscuits and two gallons of my famous sausage gravy to feed the BBQ chicken crew at church in the morning. This is our first one of the season. We sampled the fare for dinner and it was satisfactory. 🙂
Now downstairs for some much-needed family time. Have a great weekend, everyone.