It was a large kitchen in a Brooklyn tenement. By the late 1940s, the old black coal stove was replaced by a gas cookstove. A large formica table with chrome legs stood in the center of the room. The floor was covered with linoleum that had a multi-colored geometric pattern. There was a large cylindrical water tank next to the kitchen sink, with a gas burner that we lit when hot water was needed. When winter winds blew cold, Momma and I would go to the chicken market where we picked out our own chicken. The chicken would be killed and de-feathered. We would come home with a package of warm, dead chicken, complete with the neck, head, innards and feet. Momma never used the neck, head or feet, but Grandma did. Momma always added the liver and gizzard to the simmering pot. Today I am very happy that I don't have to pick out a chicken. I go to the supermarket and buy a nice Perdue chicken, neatly cleaned and wrapped, fresh and cold. I think my chicken soup is as good as Momma's.   ~ Frannie (Frannie516@aol.com)~ You are welcome to use the graphics on this page providing you use them as a set and don't mix them with other graphics. You may use a different title and different text, but be sure to include my button and a link back. (http://www.geocities/writerswinter2004/) All poems and short stories on this website have a copyright. If you wish to use one or more on your website, contact the author for permission. If you enjoyed this page, check these out: Two Women (new author) Pondering Powder Blue Day And.......for many others, click the link for HOME. Home: Writers' Winter 2004 Index