A Revisit to: Sunday Dinners at Grandmas

 

Whatever happened to: Sunday dinners at Grandmas?

In anticipation of this season of thanksgiving and the feast we share with loved ones on Thanksgiving day, I want to repost this blog post from 2020. This memory of long ago is for anyone who can relate to the closeness of family meals with loved ones near and far. 

Happy Thanksgiving everyone, and enjoy.  

Long before the shutdown of 2020, I had visions of starting a blog, and if I did, this would be the first post I would publish. Well, life had other plans. It goes without saying that the shutdown is what's happened to family get-togethers over a meal on Sundays, but hold on a minute. When we get through this awful time, and all goes back to normal (?), will we go back to family get-togethers? Those Sundays, when seeing family all in one place, had meaning? I wonder. In this post, I go back to the time before 2020 and remember... so come with me. I hope you enjoy the read.

I remember Sundays. That day before Monday. That quiet day when the church bell rang more loudly, it seemed than on any other day. After church service, we gathered briefly to greet other members and comment on the sermon, then hurried home to change out of our Sunday clothes to visit Grandma.

Grandma was either at home or had left church service early to prepare for guests. Us. We were expected, and she was excited to have us there. She planned the meal a week before, thinking of everything from soup to nuts. She hurried around her kitchen, checking on gravies, side dishes, desserts, and the main course, of course—meats like roast chicken, baked turkey, pork, lamb chops, roast beef, or glazed ham, for the choosing. No casual fare like tuna casseroles, beef stews, or fried chicken, no indeed, this was Sunday, and dinner was about to be served.

The door was unlocked, as each member of the family rushed in to greet Grandma working hard in the kitchen as if it was no effort at all. Dinner was more than eating. Dinner at Grandmas on Sunday afternoon was a social affair. Informal at best, with lots of laughter, jokes, and gossip. I remember the smell of green beans with ham hocks and onions, a roasted chicken in the oven basted with butter and pan drippings with more vegetables on the stove, and macaroni & cheese made from scratch, not out of the box. Potatoes were boiled, peeled, and mashed, then salted, with butter added for good measure. The dining table, dressed in its finest tablecloth and gleaming silverware, was used only for this occasion. It seemed to smile in thanks for being remembered for use on that day.

All was ready, and the meal was about to commence.

There were no smartphones, iPads, tablets, or television to distract us. Our focus was on the deliciousness of the food and conversation. We never thought much about the time and effort that went into preparing a meal like that, only the thought of the next day and the drudge of the work week ahead. I don’t think any of us thought about Grandpa, who seemed to take for granted that this Sunday meal would be just so. He enjoyed the day, just like the rest of us, and congratulated Grandma on her efforts while she blushed, saying, “Oh, it was nothing.”

We talked to each other, and we asked after each other. We were concerned about our futures and who was moving ahead in either improved school grades or business promotions. We were encouraged to seek our own paths in life and not play 'follow the leader' lest we be led off a cliff. We were reminded of family values and teased about our latest boyfriends or girlfriends. We cared about each other, and it showed. The younger kids couldn’t wait to finish and play outside, and at the end of the meal, we gathered the dishes to clean while Grandma rested and Grandpa snored in his easy chair. We were a clan, a family gathered for one evening of togetherness to bond us forever at the closing of the day. This was the gift of Sunday dinners. 

Not only did Grandma prepare a great meal, but in doing so, she also prepared us to face the days ahead.

We are scattered now, separated by distance, and interactions through conversation are lost. We are distant from the natural closeness and caring we have for each other. Most of us no longer gather to give silent thanks for what we have in "family" while sitting at a well-dressed dining table for dinner. We hurriedly eat in the kitchen and reach for our devices for conversation. Even in lockdown, we are separated by technological advances in electronics, which move our focus from ourselves, and those we love to the beckoning call of television or our smartphones. We care more about what others think of us, instead of those who know us best— our families. We are pulled along to follow and not lead. Grandma didn’t push or pull during those Sunday dinners. She wanted us to follow her lead by setting an example, which I fear is lost. An example that says love and caring are tangible and invisible at the same time; we feel it when surrounded by those who just sit with us to talk and show they genuinely care. 

Are the vestiges of long-ago values forever lost? I hope not. Do we appreciate who we are and what family means? I hope so.   

Whatever happened to Sunday dinners at Grandmas? I repeat this question as I look at the dried wishbone taken from a turkey breast during the last Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma's as a memento. It is aged and fragile, brushed carefully in polyurethane for long life, and I remember. I remember the days of sunshine and long conversations. I remember the joy on faces that look like mine. I remember the sincere caring and long embrace of good wishes for a better tomorrow.

I remember Grandma in her apron, in her kitchen, smiling and welcoming all of us home.

~DaMarie

Photo Courtesy of Regular Man

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