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FlashNano2024 Day 12 Write a story including a family recipe

Outside the November wind blew the remaining colored leaves off the trees. Inside the kitchen was warm with the four women, pans, mason jars and ingredients for the relish.The oldest was 18, the youngest 16.

Jenny thought the annual relish-making day was more like a coven of women. There was Great Granny Anne, her self, Anne's daughter and Jenny's daughter Frances. But this year, Frances’s daughter Alice was joining for the first tim.

Alice thought this was a almost a right of passage..

Everything they would need was set out on the wooden kitchen table that had seen so many meals prepared by Granny Anne: baked beans, potato salad, oatmeal bread and more. They had cranked the ice cream maker until their arms hurt.

Great Granny Anne handed her great granddaughter Alice one of the two peelers and the click-click-click didn’t stop until all 16 large cucumbers were skin-free.

The buzz of the grinder drowned out Beethoven’s Ninth. Francis had put it almost on mute. “I’ll turn it up for Ode to Joy” she said. That too was part of the tradition that went back to Great Granny Anne doing it with Jenny and then Frances when each turned 16. Now Alice was 16.

The cucumbers were put in a strainer. Alice was told to sprinkle them with four tablespoons salt. “Don’t stir,” Great Granny Anne and Frances said together. “We now wait two hours: put the kettle on.”

Frances had made bird cookies or rather sugar cookies shaped with a cookie cutter that had belonged to a great aunt from sometime a little after the Civil war. The cookies were still warm from the oven and Alice, who ordinarily didn’t drink tea enjoyed pouring the liquid from the blue teapot and sipping two cups along with eating four cookies starting at the tail and nibbling up to the head.

The two-hour timer dinged and the three women who had spent the two last hours telling stories, stood up to continue work. Alice had never heard any of the stories. That her mother, grandmother and Great Grandmother has marched in demonstrations for women’s vote, the equal rights amendment and the right to have an abortion made her think of the older women in her life in a totally different way.

Into a big pan often used for spaghetti sauce went six cups of vinegar, one cup of water, seven cups of sugar and four tablespoons of turmeric. “Be careful,” Great Granny Anne said, “It stains.”

“My Mom says that every year. It’s part of the tradition,” Jenny said.

“I know,” Francis said. “I wait to hear it every year.”

Two teaspoons of ginger, one of salt and two cups of water were added next.

“It smells good,” Alice said as the mixture boiled for five minutes.

“Put it into the boiled mason jars,” Frances said. “Right Mom?”

Granny Anne was busy putting the sealed jars into a huge pan of water.  “Alice, we will boil them for 15 minutes to sterilize them and we’re done.”

At the end of the day, the jars were divided between the households.

“Next year can I do it with your guys again?” Alice asked.

“Of course, “the three other women chorused..

 

Free Write - Memories

Julia gave today's Free Write Prompt, Memories. Hopefully, next week, we'll be back in the same country, Switzerland together, sipping coffee, tea and/or hot chocolate in one of our favorite cafés as our pens rush across the paper for ten minutes.

Julia's Free Write Memories

The good, the bad, the indifferent: oh no, that means I am thinking of Old Westerns!

But who cares, I’ve accumulated them over the thousands (28’052) of days that I’ve lived.

Some became highlights, some faded into insignificance, but the mind is a wonderful thing and can pull out some from its’ multitude compartments in nanoseconds, in fact so many that I haven’t a fighting chance of listing them all, even were I to live another 100 years and we all know how unlikely that is!

It is interesting that one often first remembers the difficult or challenging only by dint of true application does one recall the outstanding, in my case perhaps because there have been more good than difficult.

Then there are those of life-changing moments and decisions.

But, regardless, I gather them all, like a shawl around my shoulders: Memories, proof that I have lived.

Julia has written and taken photos all her life and loves syncing up with friends. Her blog can be found: https://viewsfromeverywhere.blogspot.com/ 

D-L's Free Write

Whenever she heard the word memories, she immediately thought "turn your face to the moonlight" and the blasted song from Cats rang through her head the rest of the day.

Usually when she heard the song for real, something bad happened: she'd lose her keys, get a flat tire, etc.

On the other hand, when she heard the song Willow Weep for Me, something good happened: an old friend called, she'd find $50 on the sidewalk and no one was around to return the money to.

At the risk of sounding Sesame Streetish, memories and music both started with the letter M.

As she drove to work, the radio played Memories. Five miles later there was an accident. Damn it, the memories curse was holding true. 

Visit D-L's website https://dlnelsonwriter.com

Rick's Free Write

I have only good memories.

Thanks to my ability to block from my mind any negative events.

Memories, it seems, reside somewhere in the deep recess of the mind and only come to the fore when triggered by something we see, something we hear, someone we meet.

We all, I think, have a litany of stories that we retell, especially when talking with someone new. I sometimes suggest we need fresh friends because the current ones have heard all my regular stories and jokes.

But sitting here, trying to write about specific memories, my mind is oddly blank. No triggers.

Childhood? Milestones? Marriage(s)? Children? Grandchildren? Friends? Travel? Places I’ve lived? Politics (no more)? Food? Animals?

Too many to choose.

Yet nothing comes to mind.

Visit Rick's website https://aviationvoices.com

 

FlashNano2024 No. 9 – Your grown daughter texts you – Fox please help

 

FlashNano2024 No. 9 – Prompt Your grown daughter texts you – Fox please help

When Gracie sent the message, “Fox, please help,” I phoned her immediately. She didn’t answer, which didn’t worry me all that much.

I used to joke that Gracie was independent from the time she walked out of the womb. Now she was a presenter on France2’s Télémartin. Last week she had been in Sete broadcasting from a cookie factory and this week, she was in Toulouse filming at an art gallery. During these times she shut off her phone.

Although Gracie never asked for help, she often would tell me her plans then ask, “Did I miss anything?” I’d been a single mom since I was widowed when she was five. We got along great.

Three hours later she called.

“What’s up??”

“I’ve been offered a job at double my pay with real reporting. Covering political news.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“For Fox News.”

I bit my tongue before I could say, “That’s not wonderful.” Although I’d lived in France since before Gracie was born, I still followed U.S. news closely. I hated Fox News with a passion and Gracie knew it. I was in public relations and could recognize manipulation.

“Are you going to say anything?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Gracie not knowing was unusual.

“I’ll back your decision, whatever.” It hurt to tell her that, but my daughter was 28. I could only hope that ethics would prevail over money and desire to be a “real” journalist, if reporting for Fox was real. Maybe it would lead to a post at France24 or TF1. I was sure she had thought of that, but again, it had to be her decision.

“I have to run, the camera guy is waving at me. I’ll let you know.”

Three days later Gracie called. “I’m staying with France2. When I told them of my offer, they upped my salary. They didn’t match it. I also asked to be switched to the news-news. No opening now, but at least they know I’d like that.”

“Wonderful.” I sighed in relief. All my brainwashing on ethics must have worked.