I made some spaghetti for the kids today (since I cook low carb I rarely make them pasta). During dinner as they were eating and talking back and forth I suddenly had a sense memory. I was suddenly in my grandmother’s home in Hazleton in her basement, where she used to make spaghetti from scratch. My sister and brother and I used to run around this house from top to bottom like-well, like little kids (and it had an attic, so we’re talking four floors here). My grandmother used to make sausage in the basement too (it was set up as a second kitchen), and hang it up to cure. She also used to make “Pumpkin Flowers,” which were out of this world. They were squash flowers dredged in (I think) egg, flour, and cheese and pan fried. We had good times there. It’s funny how my kids remind me of specific memories in my own childhood. I miss my grandmother–she died in 1988 on the day I met my wife–but I’ll always have my memories of her. I hope I can give my kids great childhood memories like mine to carry through their lives.