Wishing

Is fighting over the wishbone still a thing?

Or is that yet another memory of yesteryear committed to the memoirs of those of us whose childhood straddled the 70s?

Those of you aged under 40 are probably wondering "What the bloody hell is she wittering on about now?" But believe me, it really WAS a thing!

Sunday roast done and dusted, I'd watch the chicken carcass  & its hidden wishbone treasure be popped in a pot to be boiled up with an assortment of root vegetables to make a soup for Monday. An hour later and mother had scraped every bone clean: the prized wishbone was put up high on the kitchen shelf, out of reach of desperate young hands, to dry out.

Monday - and it's soup - came and went. The wishbone stayed put.  I knew that because if I stretched on tiptoes, I could see it. Just. As far out of reach as the fairy atop the Christmas tree. It just sat there. Silently. All wishboney.

Tuesday. Home from school, "Is it ready yet mum?" "No!"  Who knew the depth of a 7yr old's disappointment could reach.

Wednesday evening and the prize was finally taken down from its place of safety "OK who wants it?"

What wonderful dreams and wishes were held within that crunchy little bone. Only to be brought to life if you had the winning end.

Wishes that really did come true.

                                                          Wishing......