Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My script of joy, immortal diet,
y bottle of salvation.
My gown of glory, hopes true gauge,
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.

~Sir Walter Raleigh

A hiker, walking for pleasure, likes to choose between several alluring trails.
The pilgrim desires only the road that leads home.

~Frank W. Boreham

Monday, January 24, 2011

The Decline and Fall of Sunday Dinner

In the long ago misty past, early Sunday morning found Grandma in the kitchen and mama setting the table with Grandma's best china and silverware - on a table cloth, of course. All was in readiness for our return from morning worship service.

Aromas of wonderfulness greeted us as we returned home. Dinner was served. I mostly remember chicken offerings. But what ever form it took it would be done to perfection. Grandma was that sort of cook. We all sat around the table in the dining room. Daddy at the head of the table and Grandma on his right hand. She always sat with her knees pointing to the kitchen and at a moment's notice was up and getting whatever was required. The blessing would be given, and Dad would begin filling the plates one by one and passing them down the table. There was quiet conversation, mostly by the older folk. More often that not, guests were included round the table. It was nearly always a pleasant time. The only firm words were for behavioral issues concerning us children.

Now we travel through the years to our own Sunday table during our Mennonite-farm years.
We raised much of our own table fare, meat included. Dinner most often was a fall-apart roast beef with the spuds, carrots and onions cooked together with the meat and oh, so flavorful. Those were the Halcyon Days and sweetly memorable.

From there we moved to the city. The Dad was now a Youth Pastor. The children were teens or nearly so. More often than not, other teens joined us at table. Always in those days there were evening church activities too. The days were full. The menu now consisted of tuna sandwiches on flannel bread with chips, pickles and Pepsi.

Many changes through the years as locations and cast of characters changed. Now it is mostly we two. And yesterday, as we sat at plastic tables surrounded by noisy slurping strangers, I looked at our Polish dogs on buns and remembered. And then laughed at the evolution of Sunday Dinner.

Memories are lovely things though, aren't they? And yes, the Polish with catsup, onions, sweet pickle relish and a bit of 'kraut are tasty, if not the remembered elegant fare on china plates with loved ones gathered round.

One can even give thanks for a Costco 'dinner' served up on paper and eaten with plastic fork and knife.

(photo from Costco, via Google:)


  1. Makes my mouth water and fond memories flow. Thanks for always feeding us tasty morsels. Here's to flannnel bread!