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Never been one much for food, always caused too much fear. “Geeeeez” would there be 
enough? Enough food was always a concern. I’d think of cold days when Dad was gone. Mom 
was crying and sled rides through the snow to grandmas where, maybe, there was venison. 
Didn’t like seeing the red, blue-black meat all smelly and sizzling in the pan. (The deer’s 
head was a porch wall!) Loved the golden butter and the onions. Gram would have potatoes 
always lots of them.
     I can’t ever remember wanting to feel full. When I was full if I ever got full “Wouldn’t 
someone else be empty?” I thought they might, so, I never tempted fate. I was a little bitty 
girl. I took bitty bites and wee tastes especially if it was yummy.
     There were and are things I love to taste, but I wouldn’t say eat. “Tastin’ now that’s the 
thing! Tastin’ doesn’t hurt no one. Don’t hurt them by eatin’ all theirs and don’t hurt you if it’s 
yucky” The bestest most happiest tastes, I can remember, are sour tastes “Go figure? “ I’m 
your kosher dill girl. I’m a prickle barrel surprise. My Jewish family Tanta and Uncle Don had 
the bestest pickles “Mmmmmmmm yummy!” What a crunchin’ delight and a pickle won’t fill 
you up either. A pickle will just make your mouth water and your tongue lick your lips. “If 
you have two pickles you ain’t eatin’ no ones supper either!” So I’d have ta say, “ Pickles is 
my food of joy crunchy, cold, half-sour, Jewish pickles given with love from my Uncle Donny.”

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