WeWriWa—Thanksgiving bingo

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. This week’s snippet comes a bit after last week’s, when Cinnimin Filliard and her best friend Sparky (real name Katharina) headed off on Thanksgiving morning to get a fresh turkey.

Instead of going to Gregory’s Groceries for one of the free turkeys being given away, the girls decided to go to the kosher butcher so Sparky’s family could eat with Cinni’s. The Filliards have a very large house that’s been in the family for generations, long before the Great Depression, so there’s a wing with another kitchen and dining room enabling each family to keep their own dietary customs.

The girls weren’t able to resist the butcher’s bingo tournament, with a 25-pound turkey as a prize. The tournament runs until only five teams are left, and then those five teams play off for the winner. Several times, false bingo is called among all the competitors.

“The winner will not only get a twenty-five-pound turkey, freshly slaughtered, but also a pound each of carrots, beets, large yams, and eggs, and ten cans of potato gravy!  The runners-up will get a pound each of beans, eggs, and yams.”

Cinni put all her focus on remembering the names of each German number and matching up as many as possible on their cards.  Each time another team didn’t call bingo in time, she rejoiced.  Finally, as it started growing dusky, bingo appeared on Sparky’s latest card.

“Bingo, bingo, bingo!  B fünfzehn, I neunzig, N eins, G elf, O fünfundvierzig!” Sparky called.

The butcher verified the win. “The turkey and all the other food is yours.  I’ll go and slaughter the turkey right now.”

In order, the German numbers called are 15, 19, 1, 11, and 45.

If you’re wondering, my new banner goes along with my 12-part series on the 90th anniversary of The Jazz Singer. It’ll run from 13 November–11 December. I had so much fun researching and writing it. This also gave me back my writing mojo. I desperately needed a break away from fiction, where words were no longer coming as prolifically and easily as usual.

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WeWriWa—Served by the Alberighis

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. This week’s snippet comes a bit after last week’s, when 20-year-old Darya Koneva and her friends entered a diner run by Italian–Americans, the Alberighis.

One of the young waitresses smiled at Dmitriy and asked how he got five dates, wondering if there were one girl from each borough to see him on leave. He admitted four of them are his godsisters, and that Darya is his oldest godsister’s best friend.

Ema means “mother” in Estonian. Dmitriy calls his godmother Katrin “Ema Kati,” and calls his blood mother Anastasiya “Ema Stasya.” For the first few years of his life, he believed Katrin was his mother, since Anastasiya was almost completely uninvolved in his caretaking.

Darya slumps against Viivela and picks at the plate of fried potato wedges brought over with a bottle of ketchup.  When the entrées come, she longingly inhales the scents of tuna melt, grilled cheese, hamburger, clam chowder, and fried haddock.  She can hardly believe she’s not rushing to wolf down so much delicious food, and that there’d ever again come a time when she’d lose her appetite for any reason.  Three months ago, she didn’t need any prompting to swallow soup with broken glass, worms, and cloth; sawdust bread; raw potatoes and turnips; or vegetables with mold.

“I bet Ema Kati’s already writing a big article about this,” Dmitriy says as he sprinkles oyster crackers into his chowder. “I’ve always been surprised how she’s never been questioned or arrested for being so openly Socialist, particularly during wartime.  She’s written so many articles criticizing Japanese internment, racist anti-Japanese propaganda, the draft, the treatment of conscientious objectors and people performing alternative service, segregation in the military, the xenophobic immigration quotas keeping out people desperately trying to escape the Nazis, and the censorship and downplaying of reports of Nazi atrocities.”

One of the waitresses sets a bowl of minestrone and a glass of cherry Italian soda before Darya. “My grandfather insisted you have something.  You’re probably hungry, even if you don’t feel like eating now.”

 In my fourth Russian historical, A Dream Deferred: Lyuba and Ivan at University, Katrin’s Socialist activism and decades-long career with left-wing newspapers finally catches up with her. When she arrives home from a trip to Japan in 1950, to survey the bombs’ damage firsthand, she’s arrested and put on trial.

Vintage summer food ads and recipes

Owing to the holiday weekend, when many people won’t be reading blogs anyway, I decided to put together another post featuring vintage ads. These ones include magazine recipes for things that would work really well at a Fourth of July party or picnic.

And if you’re wondering, just about all ads from pre-1977 are public domain. It annoys me so much when I see an awesome vintage ad has someone’s URL or logo on it, as though that person is the copyright holder. That’s not their own creative work, and even if they bought or own a physical copy, that’s still not the only one in existence!

What person with a sweet tooth could resist this?

March 1966. I’d prefer if the green were mint instead of lime, but I’m sure it still tastes awesome.

I’d totally make these with kosher and vegan gelatin!

I’m well aware of the fact that Kool-Aid is sugary crap without any nutritional value, but we can’t avoid junk food and drinks all the time.

I love grape pop.

I’ve never been a marshmallow fan, not even of kosher marshmallows. I just don’t like the texture.

1949, when you could still buy things for all of five cents.

Even knowing the role inflation and currency value pay in prices, that still looks like a great deal.

From the 1940s. Canned meat made sense when many people in rural areas didn’t have modern refrigerators.

1952

1955, the only kind of mustard I like. It’s dark yellow for me all the way!

Happy Fourth of July!

Vintage summer dessert ads

Due to just having moved (NOT to my desired, permanent future home!), this week I once again don’t have time to put out the number and typical in-depth type of posts I usually do. Hopefully I’ll soon be back to my normal schedule! In the meantime, enjoy these vintage ads for summer desserts.

From April 1967

1961

Sometime in the 1960s

1940s menu and prices for an ice-cream parlor

1950

1956

1953

1954

1957

1950

1960s ice-cream menu

Do you have a favorite summer dessert or drink? Do you miss any ice-cream companies who’ve gone out of business? Any fond memories of a particular ice-cream parlor or truck you always went to in the summer? Do you prefer the established ice-creams and frozen treats or modern novelties?

WeWriWa—Dinner is served

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. This week’s snippet comes a bit after last week’s, when 18-year-old Emánuel begged Dr. Svoboda to remove the number on his arm. Dr. Svoboda said he’d be glad to do it later, but that Emánuel had more pressing heath concerns, and might come to see it as a mark of pride someday.

Seventeen-year-old Adrián has just asked for food, and mentioned it was a semi-fast day, with the caveat that it wasn’t much different from any other day. They haven’t had much food since they started out from Mauthausen a few weeks ago.

Copyright mick; Source http://www.flickr.com/photos/panasonic-kei/6132672345

Jaroslav pulled a potato out of the stove, cut it in half, and put each piece on a plate.  Adrián leapt on his like a famished wolf, while Emánuel had to wait until Dr. Svoboda was done taking his vitals.  After they’d eaten and Dr. Svoboda had taken Adrián’s vitals, Ondřej brought them each a large mug of ginger peach tea.

“Ginger soothes the stomach, and peaches symbolize long life in Chinese folklore,” Ondřej said. “We’ll bring you chicken broth next.  We’ve got some in our icebox, and it won’t take long to reheat.”

“Děkuji mnohokrát,” Emánuel said, using one of the Czech phrases he’d picked up from fellow prisoners. “God should bless all of you for your righteousness and altruism.”

“It’s nothing doing, just what any good partisan and human being would do,” Jaroslav said. “May I ask what the semi-fast day was for?”