PAPAS FRITAS TO FOIS GRAS

This book consists of 52 brief papers about events in my life between the ages of 6-65, some humorous some merely interesting. Also included are several papers reflecting my personal philosophy (e.g. Touch the Water, Scars with Benefits). These were the years when my life was most fluid and eventful. Papas fritas refers to the dinners my mother gave my sister and me when no other food was available and are indicative of my early years. Papas fritas with fried eggs was one of my favorite dinners when I was growing up. Fois Gras was included in a wonderful 7 course meal my wife and I had in Bordeaux, France on New Year's Eve when I was 65 years old. All of these writings are much better because of my wife Joyce who patiently corrected spelling, grammar and asked questions about content. Each correction required a rewrite which resulted in a more polished paper. Two short examples of content you will find in this book are provided below: THE CHICKEN COOP The chicken coop was a private sanctuary for me---just me and the chickens! There were a variety of smells, some pleasant, some more pungent. Straw was the smell when the floor litter was replaced. As part of a bale was pulled apart, the odor of fresh straw was released. The chicken had a unique smell of a warm body, feathers and feet. And of course, their roost smelled of chicken manure. These chickens were egg layers and therefore were fed a mash. In the winter, I would pour hot water into a bowl of mash to encourage the hens to feed. The hot, steaming mash exuded its own smell. When one entered the coop in early morning after the door had been shut all night against the cold, the overall smell depended on factors such as time of last straw replacement, when the roost had been cleaned and how many chickens were there. It was always a pleasant smell to me. AMUSE BOUCHE During the 1990s my wife, Joyce, and I visited the French port city of Nantes at the mouth of the Loire River. Each time we went we spent one day at La Baule, a beach on the Atlantic that required a one hour train ride. The train station was six or eight blocks inland from the shoreline. The beach itself was sandy and about two hundred yards wide and separated from the businesses by a road. This road had heavy traffic during the summer months but perhaps not so much off season. One particular day we exited the train station to walk the six or eight blocks to the beach. On our way, we saw a basset hound come out of a side street headed for the beach. As he got closer to the road we worried that he would be hit by one of the fast moving cars. The dog just walked up to the road unconcerned and crossed the road. He was not hit and the traffic was not inconvenienced. It was like a miracle!