Welcome to West Virginia

It was a ritual every year for my mother to make hamantaschen, and she made it like nobody else in the world - like little stars and triangles filled with prunes and poppyseed. We moved to a new home in Huntington, West Virginia, where the neighbors were really nice white bread people. My mother made a batch of hamantaschen, and as a friendly gesture, said, "I think I'll send some next door because they have a couple of kids." I took some over. The next day the little 8-year-old girl from next door came to our house and said, "Mrs. Baker, we want to thank you for sending that over." My mother replied, "Well, how did you like it?" The little girl hesitated. Then she answered, "It was really interesting. We never had anything made with coffee grounds before."

One of my brothers was a serious eater. At the dinner table he was always saying, "What are we having for dinner next Wednesday?" And my mother would say, "You haven't eaten what you have today. Finish that and we'll talk about next Wednesday." He could never get enough dessert. He was always trying to buy everybody's dessert. Strawberry shortcake was his special favorite. So one day my mother baked him a huge shortcake all his own and wouldn't let the rest of us touch it. My brother was delighted. His wildest fantasies were being realized. He ate more than half of it and suddenly stopped eating. To this day he pales visibly at the sight of a strawberry.