Thoughts from the Tundra

It's snowing lovely big, fat flakes right now and Lil' Bit is taking an early nap. Ahhh. Just finished the coffee pot and wish I had some profound thoughts to spatter here but, alas, I got nothin'.

So I'll share a random memory.

Growing up with my younger brother was often a lesson in patience when it came to the dinner table. Josh was the quintessential picky eater in our family. He often turned his nose up at the most simple of meals. I remember (fondly?) the night when my dad warned him that if he didn't finish the rest of his hot dog, by God he was gonna get a spanking. Josh sat for hours with that 'dog stuck in his chaw, after the plates had been cleared, the table wiped down...and eventually in the dark when we all simply left the room. Kid had an iron will.

Anyway, as he got older Josh discovered barbecue sauce. But by "discovered" I mean that it became like his mealtime blankie, something that was required for him to hold a fork in hand. It was often my job to set the table for meals and I frickin' hated when my Mom would ask, a bit anxiously, "did you remember the barbecue sauce?"

As a Southerner, it's a requirement for you to be a fan of barbecue. But after years and years of smelling that crap doused over all kinds of food - eggs, sandwiches, pork chops, tacos - I got to the place where just the slightest whiff of barbecue sauce could turn my stomach. Even long after I had moved away and lived on my own, I still had a bad reaction. Once at Kanakuk, someone saw me turn my nose up at the mention of BBQ and asked, "girl, what kinda person hates barbecue? You must hate kissin', too!"*

You guys have any bad memories associated with certain foods?

*no, indeed kissing is still on my list of favorites.