I’ve been lucky in many ways during my lifetime, but not with winning prizes. This is partially genetic. My mother used to say that one of our friends and her family won everything, and indeed, it seemed true. The only thing we ever won was a turkey at a Shriner’s holiday dinner, and once a doll for me.
Waco attempted to rejuvenate the downtown area about 1958. The festivities included a contest to name and win a life-sized, walking doll. In the name of rampant consumerism, my mother offered the name, “Ima Bargainhunter” and won the doll. I was almost too old for it, more a tree-climbing, pony-riding tomboy, committed to an ancient rag doll and a couple of Barbies. So after a few outings, Ima was boxed up and stored with some gorgeous Madame Alexander dolls I hadn’t much use for either. My daughter eventually discovered Ima, and enjoyed her until the poor, brittle, decades-old body lost a couple of fingers and an arm. Ima was retired to the doll hospital after that and sadly, never emerged intact. The Madame Alexanders are stored in my studio now and should probably be sold on eBay. They’ll have to bury the rag doll with me.
When my son was young, I won a skateboard for him. I think that was the extent of any winning between Ima Bargainhunter and present. Zack won the Guillain-Barre Syndrome lottery, only 17 in a million, a prize no one wanted. But our luck changed a bit last week with a call from Brookshire’s. Turned out three managers wanted to rush out to the ranch RIGHT AWAY to personally present me with a $50. gift card. Seems I had been entered automatically whenever I presented my Brookshire’s card and purchased Food Club items. We cook A LOT. Well, woohoo / whoopee! But you want to come NOW when I’m frantic? Really?
I was in the middle of using all those great Brookshire’s products to produce the usual gluten-free fare for my daughter’s weekend visit, goodies to take to a hospitalized cousin, homemade bread and two stellar appetizers for a party we were helping host in Waco that evening. I was running late, as usual. If that salmon mousse didn’t chill at least four hours, my favorite copper fish mold would certainly produce a big plop of salmon mush when flipped over later. (It should have been made the day before). Did I mention that my kitchen was a huge mess?
I thanked the manager profusely, and asked if perhaps we could delay the home visit. There was a long pause. Jason Beard asked, “How about twenty or thirty minutes?” I came close to replying, in the midst of my cooking/ prep madness, “Well, thanks, but no thanks. It’s not a good time”. But something stopped me. After all, this was such a nice gesture, and fifty bucks is fifty bucks, even if it did seem a bit of overkill hoopla these days when most trips to the grocery cost $100 or more. Never look a gift horse in the mouth. “It won’t take long, will it?” I asked somewhat ungratefully. You have no idea how rushed I was. It made me seem rude.
I dashed to the workshop, asked Zack to please unlock the front gate. “They won’t come into the house, will they?” he wondered, knowing how it looked just then. Well, certainly not. So we met the three managers outside (all of whom I know well and have asked over the years to please find this or that product for me if they could. And most times they did). They gave me the card and asked if I’d like to win more. I think I asked whom I had to kill. No, I asked what I had to do. “Just take us inside and show us all your Food Club items!”
So much for embarrassment over the mess, but I was still checking my watch. My daughter followed. We all marched into the little kitchen which was hard pressed to hold six full-sized human adults. I pulled out 22 items, was told to stop. We cleared /moved the table on which I’d been prepping, lined up items, took a picture with Jason, balloons and a huge replica of the gift card I’d later receive for more than the promised $50. It was like winning Publisher’s Clearing House Sweepstakes (except not that much).
Thanks for the wonderful surprise, Brookshire’s! And the salmon mousse did OK too.


















