Sometime is the late 50s Mom got injured while working in The Feckenburg (Sis and my word for confectionary). A shelf slipped and hit her on the collar bone. We didn’t think anything about it, but her shoulder did not heal.
Then one day Mom was reaching under the bed to get something. You know how it is, just out of reach; so you stretch…and stretch…your fingers barely touching…and SNAP!
Mom went to the doctor to confirm what she already knew: her collar bone was broken and she needed surgery. So while Mom was convalescing on the hospital bed set up in the living room (and waiting 30 days for the marrow to dry to check for cancer) Dad took over as what is now known as House Husband.
It was hard working and taking care of the chores (as any single, working mother will tell you,) but Dad had plenty of practice (being the youngest of 10 children) with all his nieces and nephews. He managed pretty well, until the night he realized he’d run out of Tippy’s dog food! Ah what the hell, he was cooking for us anyway so he decided to make a big pot of what he called Hungarian goulash for us and Tippy to share.
If there was one thing that Mom and Dad always did, it was keep the pantry well stocked: cans of tomato paste, soup, dried beans, rice, macaroni etc because when you’ve lived through The Great Depression and stood in line for a cup of soup you learn to be prepared.
So Dad got out the big soup pot and started throwing stuff in just like the witches do in the movies right before conjuring those “evil” spells. A touch of this; a dash of that, and add the spice for taste…
The goulash was so good we ate it all, and then Dad had to whip up something else for poor Tippy!