Happy Poetry Friday!
We managed this past weekend to gather with some family and have our traditional dinner of Swedish meatballs and noodles. My husband is the chief cook. The process is long and somewhat tedious, and since we expected 12 hungry folks, several batches of meatball mix were made the day before. Hours of preparation produced six pounds of meatball mix. Whoa!
The next day, each meatball was scooped onto a pan and baked, then kept warm in an oven. At least 4 full pans, plus extra for one grandson who needs dairy free. Plus some meat mix to flavor the gravy. It was quite a labor of love.
Meatballs before being smothered in cream gravy
The outcome was sensational. The first mouthful produced a sustained sigh of satisfaction. Fantastic!
Of course, the meatballs need a poem, but I haven't had time to do them justice. Still, I had written a little poem about my husband... the grandpa in this poem... and how our evenings often unfold. So, with that introduction, I hope you will like it.
Grandpa
After rustling up
a fine dinner
he sinks into his recliner
works on sudokus
nods off and
snores
snores
snores
snores
snores!
Yes, it happened after the meatballs! Yes, we smiled and felt the rest was well deserved. Ahhh...
It's Poetry Friday. Find more poets at Carol Varsalona's Beyond literacy link.
Wishing you sweet winter dreams, beautiful clear days, and a good pair of boots, should you need them!
Snow has arrived...