Published March 4, 2017 by rochellewisoff

Today Pegman walks through a St. Louis neighborhood.

Feel free to stroll around the area using the Google street view and grab any picture you choose to include in your post.

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

For guidelines and rules for the What Pegman Saw weekly writing prompt, visit the home page.

Since I chose the destination this week, I had no choice but to write a story. Right? Of course, right! 

Even at 150 words…50 over my normal flashes, I found myself wishing for more. 😉  Below is my choice of prompt. It brought back some wonderful childhood memories.


Genre: Mostly Memoir-Some Fiction

Word Count: 150


            Compared to our ranch-style house in Kansas City, George Weinberg’s two-story in St. Louis seemed a veritable palace. I looked forward to sojourns with our cousins in the early 1960’s.

            Although George’s wife Carla, a German refugee, was generous and an impeccable housekeeper, her cooking left something to be desired—taste.  We didn’t dare complain. Carla had survived unbelievable hardship and she meant well, but how can a person ruin hamburgers?

            The summer I turned fifteen, Mom had dental surgery. Granting her request to be left alone, Dad took me to our favorite getaway for an overnight.

            It was dark when he woke me. “There’s a great diner around the corner.”

            Alas, Carla stood at the foot of the stairs, platter in hand. “Guten morgen!

            “Pancakes?” Dad’s stomach let out an audible whimper. “You shouldn’t have.”

            “Nonsense. I should let my guests leave hungry?”

            What’s the German word for ‘cowhide?’        

34 comments on “SCHUHLEDER

    • Dear Sandra,

      You wouldn’t believe what Carla could do to even iced tea. I don’t think it’s supposed to be yellow. 😉 I do remember those pancakes like it happened yesterday.

      Thank you for your sweet comments.




    • Dear J Hardy,

      Don’t remember the oral surgeon’s name in Mom’s case. 😉 When I suggested St. Louis, I really didn’t have a particular story in mind. I love it when they just come like that.
      Thank you.



      Liked by 1 person

    • Dear Iain,

      Funny, when I chose St. Louis, I had something else in mind. But when I saw the old neighborhoods my muse took me back to George and Carla’s house. Glad you enjoyed the story without being subjected to the menu. 😉

      Thank you.



      Liked by 1 person

  • My grandma died before I was born so when we visited the old neighborhood, my Grandpa or one of my aunts did the cooking. The only food I remember was Grandpa’s oxtail soup. I really liked it.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Dear James,

      I was never sure why Carla’s cooking was so bad. As much as we loved to visit them, mealtimes were something to be dreaded. Lucky for you your grandpa could cook. 😉 Thank you for coming by.



      Liked by 1 person

  • That was more than a chuckle that escaped my mouth! Poor Carla. I guess it would be difficult to try and let a person know their cooking sucks. We had a neighbour like that. She could barely boil water. Being invited for dinner (thankfully, a rare occurence), we always hoped Mr. D. would cook and not Mrs. D….

    Liked by 1 person

  • Funny story, Rochelle. She was possibly one of the few German immigrants to be a bad cook. I had a German immigrant aunt who was a great cook. She taught both her daughters to be great cooks. Germans opened restaurants in Ohio and the food was delicious. My mother was part German, learned from a cookbook, and was still a good cook. Great writing as always. 😀 — Suzanne

    Liked by 1 person

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