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Saturday, January 30, 2010

Potato Chips

Apparently, my mother was very fond of potato chips.   I have been told that before I was born, she would have them shipped to Europe from her mother in up-state New York.

I must have inherited her love of the chip.  Specifically, BBQ potato chips.   I could write a thesis on the differences between Ray's Hot,  Lay's BBQ,  Lay's Sweet BBQ,  Lay's Sweet Heat BBQ,  Tom's BBQ, Grippo's Hot Dill Pickle,  Pringles (all flavors), and every variation possible.  When we travel, I love to run across "local" types of potato chips:  Maryland Blue Crab, Tomato Ketchup, Crawfish.  All , fantastic.

I am one of those people who fall for the little bags in the check-out line at the grocery.  I really like the tiny bags because I can get several bags, having a variety on the way home. One of my favorite check-out line chip-snack is Funyuns.  What is not to love?  Faux onion rings in a bag. They have recently introduced a hot flavor, which I like, but it is sad that they succumbed to the world of flavoring.  Seemed like they were the last bastion of sameness. But, if they are going in that direction, maybe BBQ?

I sometimes make my own chips with salt, pepper, and malt vinegar to drizzle.  I also make chili-spiced sweet potato chips, with a ranch or green onion dip.

I love potato chips.

My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer a age 29.  She was beautiful and young.  There was not much they could do in 1963.....radical mastectomy and radiation.  Anything to live.

She died that same year at age 29.  I was 4.

I don't remember anything about her.  I feel no sadness or loss.  Regret, maybe,  for the lack of what could have been...should have been.

I have been  told  she was not afraid of dying.  She was afraid of leaving me.
Somehow, on our last visit to the hospital, she had arranged with a nurse to have potato chips in her room.
My father told me I ate all of them without sharing.  I hope she was proud.

I don't remember.

I carry this with me every day to try...and to keep her near.

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