Krazy for Ketchup

While driving home from church, I had the car radio tuned in to Prairie Home Companion where ketchup was the subject of the musical skit.  I'm not big on using ketchup (or catsup) these days, but during my childhood, we used it a lot at home.  My parents liked ketchup with their French fries, on their fried egg sandwiches and for dipping their grilled (we called them toasted) cheese sandwiches.  Ketchup was a staple in our meatloaf, mixed in with the hamburger and then drizzled over the top of the loaf before it went into the oven.  I once knew a man who used ketchup as an expression of opinion.  If his wife prepared a new dish for dinner and he didn't care for it, he always asked her for the ketchup.  That was enough of a signal to indicate that the recipe needn't be repeated.  Despite our not having ketchup very often, Larry bought us brats and burgers at the county fair recently and they were liberally garnished with ketchup.  The sweet taste reminded me of happy memories of meals gone by with Mom and Dad when some of our favorite dishes tasted just that much better with a little dab.