She remembers she was six her mother and father were lamenting that they hadn’t anything special to ring in the new year. Times were hard, and money tight. They scrounged through pockets and handbags, looked under cushions and came up with a bit of coinage.
Dad went out to get the goods.
Some time later he came home and told her mother that the only thing open that evening was a liquor store. As he pulled out his treasures and placed them on the table he named each one, but it was the pickled pig’s feet that she remembered.
Sour, chewy, gristly, and good!
Liking them so well she made sure that dad bought them for the following new year and many more after that. She has no recollection of when the tradition of eating pigs feet ended; the year she forgot to ask perhaps? What she can tell you is, that as nostalgic as the memory is for her, she wouldn’t be caught chewing on one of these nasty trotters today!
NOTICE: I have been away for two whole years. Sorry! I have one new year’s resolution for 2016 and that is to get back on track with my writing here.