Remembering Sunday Dinners

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I was reminiscing about Sunday Dinners the other day.  Every family has different traditions.  On Sundays our family would gather sometimes at my maternal grandparent's home for Sunday dinner.  I called them Bumby & Poppy.  Poppy came back from World War II and opened a grocery store.  They lived across from the elementary school.  If you stepped out in the front yard while school was in session, you could hear the creaking of the swings that kids were swinging on on the playground.  You could hear their laughter, too.  If you stepped in the side yard, there was a birdhouse with Confederate Jasmine growing on it.  It was difficult to enjoy the fragrance of the Confederate Jasmine, though, because the birdhouse was home to blue jays.  Those birds would dive bomb your head and attack you while shrieking loudly.  The backyard was a shady spot that had a greenhouse.  Bumby always had plants growing in every pot around.  She had quite the green thumb and the Garden Club often had a sign in her yard, deeming it "Beauty Spot of the Week."  Poppy had a compost pile back there along the fence in the backyard with damp, 'earthy' smelling leaves and lots of earthworms.

However, on Sunday afternoon, you didn't want to be outside.  You wanted to be inside.  Right after church, our family would gather.  Sometimes we would change out of our Sunday best and put on "play clothes," but often we'd stay dressed up.  When you would open the door, a great aroma filled your nostrils and you just knew you were in for a treat.  The scent of delicious food drew you to the kitchen.  Before you went to the kitchen, you had to go to the bathroom and wash up.  Poppy taught us to fill the sink with water and wash our hands.  Never leave the water running!

Bumby would be in the kitchen, directing kitchen maneuvers like a field general.  If you lifted the lid off of a pot, you would be confronted with the business end of a wooden spoon and told to "Git out of here and go to the den.  Dinner will be ready shortly."  Bumby would have an apron on and would point out where items were to be placed on the table.  The dining room table had a white tablecloth on it and all the best china was out with silverware.  Nothing was buffet-style.  We would hold hands, bow our heads, and Poppy would say grace, thanking the Lord for the food we were about to enjoy.  Everything was served in serving bowls that was passed around the table.  You had to ask, "Please pass the mashed potatoes."  There were dishes of pickles and black olives to start with and a salad.  There was always a plate with white bread and butter.  There were cucumbers with sour cream and dill (I think), always sliced, ripe cantaloupe.  Lima beans were a favorite, as were beets and the main course would be pot roast with carrots and potatoes and rice and gravy.  We'd drink iced tea.

There were no cell phones back then and we would sit around the table and visit and laugh and joke.  We would ask each other questions and have good conversation. Poppy would kick off his shoes and he wore black dress socks that had yellow toes.  As a young boy, those socks would scare me for some reason!  The main plates were cleared and pie would be served.  Or maybe a banana pudding.  Bumby would 'rescue' brown bananas from the grocery store that wouldn't sell and transform them into a delicious dessert.  When we were full and finished visiting, we would ask, "May I be excused please?"  We were released and the grown-ups would do dishes and put away leftovers.  We'd head outside to play football or we would gather in the den to watch the Saints or the Cowboys.

In remembering Sunday Dinners, I'm reminded of what seemed to be simpler, less stressful, less busy and more innocent times.  Maybe it wasn't.  Maybe I was just a kid without responsibility.  The meal itself seemed very formal as far as the serving platters and linen, but the family togetherness was informal, relaxed, and the good times were seared in my memory.  After coming in from church where we feasted on the Word of God, we'd go to Sunday Dinners at Bumby's where we'd feast on great food and family fellowship.  Good times and good memories.