Our home is once again an empty nest, leaving me to wonder how one extra person could make so many more loads of dirty laundry. It’s a mystery. But our daughter has gone back to finish off her college degree and now that I don’t have to be down in the basement folding clothes for hours on end, I can get busy and write. A masterpiece of fiction doesn’t write itself!
This summer has flown by and not just because I bought a B&N Nook and have been reading like there’s no tomorrow. I also supply vegetables and raspberries to all my friends and neighbors. They don’t grow on trees like money, you know. I had to actually plant and water and pick, by the sweat of my brow and the rest of me. It’s been a very hot and humid summer!
Last week my daughter and I drove to Austin, MN for a short road trip. Our destination: The Spam Museum. Yes–we have always wanted to see the birthplace of Spam. Doesn’t everyone?
The Spam Museum is attached to the Hormel plant where this lovely, greasy, non-textured meat is produced. An elderly man greeted us in the entrance and showed us the “wall of spam” where almost 3500 cans line an entire wall from top to bottom. It was definitely a sight to behold. Fact: At one can per day, this wall could feed you for 10 years. Is that awesome information or what?
He gave us some other facts about Spam that I instantly let slip from my mind, but he was very helpful and pointed the way to a little theatre where we watched a short, entertaining, commercial-packed trailer on the history of Spam. Then we exited to tour the museum and behold the glorified meat for ourselves.
While my husband and I were in Hawaii a while back, we heard that many in the islands enjoy a hearty breakfast of fried Spam and rice. We were slightly appalled at the notion of eating Spam for breakfast, or rice for that matter, but being the live and let live kind of people that we are, we just thought they must be crazy. Why would anyone choose to eat Spam unless they had nothing else? Obviously, we were wrong.
At the Spam museum my daughter and I found that people in many countries, and even some American states have a strange addiction to the canned meat. A cross between ham and who knows what, this meat loaf has been used in many imaginative recipe creations: Spam Sushi, Spam casserole, Spam rolls, Spam & Pasta, etc.
We even got to sample a chunk of Spam on a toothpick. The taste gave me an instant flashback to childhood when Mom would fry Spam as a last resort quick and cheap meal. Kate, on the other hand, had no memory of the succulent taste of Spam, since I never bought it. Twenty-two years without Spam and she survived. Amazing!
If you have a free afternoon with nothing to do, and wish for a bit of nostalgia, visit the Spam museum. It’s actually pretty fun. We enjoyed the trip and even bought a can of Spam. I’m not sure what I’ll do with it, but I have it in my cupboard, just in case.
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Hi Barbara,
I received your kind note today about my poem, “Gentle Memories.” So sorry to hear of your friend’s loss. I lost both my parents last year. I trust that in some small way this poem can bring comfort to those who are left behind.
I have started a Facebook fan page for “Inspire!” and would like to invite you to stop and click the “like” button if you wish.
Here’s the link: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Inspire/338562522284
Best wishes,
Ron
yay spam! I opened the can you gave me and ate a little bit. It wasn’t good with my sponge bob mac n cheese and when i put it in the fridge it made the entire room smell like spam. So away it went into the garbage. Silly spam!
OMG,you are a woman after the accordion man’s heart! We have been to the JELLO museum (fantastic), the Lionel Train Museum, the Crayon Museum, and if there were a Duct Tape Museum, we would have gone there, also. We have additionally visited the World’s Largest Horseshoe Crab, The Creation Museum (I had to leave that one in the middle of the tour; just a bit too fundamentalist for me), and the Cape Cod Potato Chip factory. We are now vegetarians, but we used to have Spam sandwiches frequently. xo molly