I was enjoying my supper this evening-- spaghetti with red chicken sauce. It was good and it was satisfying. Nicely buttered rye toast in the left hand.
And as I finished up, mopping the sauce with the bread, I had a flashback to the dinner table in my childhood home. I realized that I had utilized one of my father's quirks, violated another. I had slathered the entire slice of bread, plastered it, in Dad's parlance. He was a stickler on the point holding that while plasterers had their place it was not at the dinner table. One dabs a bit of butter onto the bread, consumes that portion, then he dabs a bit more, and so on. I had violated this rule this evening.
Strangely, though Dad found it anathema to plaster the bread, he thought it not uncouth to mop his plate with the last morsel of bread. "Waste not, want not," don't you know? And this quirk I utilized.
Enjoyable meal and fun reminiscing about one of the most loved and most influential people in my life, my Daddy.