Barb Walter’s column in the Wednesday edition on memories of school lunch rooms, triggered a memory for me of my oldest brother, Ken.

We didn’t have school lunch rooms when we were kids; we all – farm kids, mostly – brought a “sack lunch” from home. Preparing them was another early morning chore for our already over-worked mother, who never complained.

My memory of Ken was him saying he never could figure out why other kids in the gym where we ate were always trying to trade him out of the sandwiches Mother made for their tastier ones made with yummy store-bought bologna. Ken was kidding when he remembered it.

Just thinking of Mother’s sandwiches, often featuring fried beef round steak or pork chops, makes me hungry today.

We weren’t rich but we ate good and we were happy.0