It Strikes Me Funny: We grew up eating warm potato salad

I started an earlier post with the following line:

“No wonder the word ‘dysfunctional’ pops into my little round head every time I join my sibs at a family reunion.”

[Click here to read the post - it’s brilliant.]

Here are another two words linked in my brain to family reunions: Potato salad.

I’ve said it a 1000 times and will repeat it until I die, “If you invite 100 Harrisons to a pot luck you’ll get 50 kinds of potato salad.”


["Singing for my supper": GAH]

Why? We love the stuff.

We grew to love it when we were kids. It was on our plate every second meal (thus the 50:100 ratio at reunions), still warm, freshly made.

Eat it or starve was my mother’s motto.

Trust me - there wasn’t much else in the fridge. Maybe the last egg, a dried up carrot and a wee bit of old Jello (including the skin scraped off the bottom of the jellie bowl).

I’m eating some potato salad right now. There are lots of choices for lunch in the fridge but I chose potato salad.

Cold. I prefer it that way now. With big chunks of egg, the way my mother used to make it.

Q: How do you know you’re at a Harrison reunion?

A: Count heads. Then wander over to the buffet table.

Potato salad, 50:100.

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