I think I’m never going to finish the thing. A simple story about making dill pickles in Pasadena in the 1950s has turned into a major tome. Tome, enough to fill five shelves of post-World-War-II history, in the ‘good old days’ when we had to stay home from school because the SMOG was too thick.
Have you ever asked for, and received, a recipe from a friend or family member, only to find that an important ingredient was missing? This is what the story is about. My brothers and I were asked to leave the kitchen, after shaving our knuckles off removing the prickles from cukes, while our grandmother and mother finished prepping the cukes with the “Secret Recipe.”
They promised to give us the ‘secret’ before they died. This didn’t happen. A sudden heart attack took Eunice and my mother had a massive stroke, several years later. And took the secret with her.
This is the story of finding, seeking and trying to get a pickle produced that had the same “SIZZLE” of long-ago dill pickles.
If I finish the book, I might get to leave the earth. Maybe, I don’t want to take off?
outsidethbox 