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Deep Fried Christmas Memory

Dear ol' dad loved the way our mom made fried clams. It stood to reason  that a deep fat fryer would be the perfect  Christmas present for her. He proudly placed it  under the sad, Charlie Brown, tree he purchased for 3 bucks  two minutes before the lot closed,  on Christmas eve 1955. The expression of disappointment on our mom's face, evident to me but masked for my younger siblings, made for one of my sadder Christmas mornings. Dear ol' dad, as usual,  was half-lit and clueless. She died way too young. He eventually used the pot  to melt lead for sinkers. I never eat fried clams.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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Date: 12/23/2019 4:37:00 AM
Congratulations on your winning placement in the contest with your well penned sad poem.
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Peter Iversen
Date: 12/23/2019 7:13:00 PM
Thanks Tania, I appreciate the comment-Peter
Date: 12/22/2019 7:27:00 PM
Congrats for your top ten placement in my Premier contest. Thanks for entering.
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Peter Iversen
Date: 12/23/2019 7:15:00 PM
Thanks Richard, I enjoyed the challenge-Peter