Warm bread from our oven, stuffed in white wax bags, no ties
We sat on the back of the station wagon, laughing cries
Mom couldn’t see and we ripped one in half filling our bellies
So many aromas mingled and vowed to keep our lies
Sultry air in the market mixed scent and sweat reminding
Those who labor reap sweet rewards of their finding
Fields and ovens, all bake after kneading and plowing
And children’s lies all share in the mercy of a bleached sun blinding
dverse prompt is ‘market’. There are still a few and mostly on a Saturday, and sometimes I get to them, not often. My mother baked bread and delivered it to the open market. I helped her but always made sure I was rewarded! She would wonder out loud about being one loaf short, but probably just to let us know we were kidding no one.
Oh I love this memory from the seller’s point of view… sounds like it was part of the payment for helping her out.
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Thank you! We sure didn’t get money!
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Thank you for sharing this story, rendered beautifully. 🙂
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You are welcome and thank you!
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Such an adorable story. I love the children sneaking the bread and swearing each other to secrecy while Mom says, huh, wonder what could have happened?
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It is one of the fun memories to look back on.
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Hi Mary! Very wonderful work! Honest expression shared openly. I am having an existential crisis tonight. I invite you to come visit me, cross my bridge of dreams, and listen to Joni sing like an angel!
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Hi Mary. Nive work!
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A mother’s fresh home-baked bread is the best! I enjoyed this memory from your childhood, Mary 🙂
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Sweet sweet childhood memory! And oh yes….mmmmmm…..there is nothing like the sweet aroma of fresh baked bread!
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It’s actually very difficult in this full of activity life
to listen news on Television, therefore I just use
web for that purpose, and get the newest information.
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