What Happened to Sunday Dinner?

      Debbie and I enjoyed spending a few days with family at the Midwest Old Threshers Reunion, Sept. 3 – 7, in Mount Pleasant, Iowa.
        This was our 19th year out of 20 (Covid year) to attend and camp at the Old Threshers Reunion.
     While on the grounds, I stopped at Printers’ Hall in Museum B and purchased the annual publication of “The Threshers Bee” newspaper for $1.
      The eight-page newspaper, which is printed on an antique press, features numerous old-time stories, quotes and advertisements. While thumbing through this year’s publication, I found a story entitled “What Happened To Sunday Dinner,” the namesake of this column.
     The story peaked my interest, so I opted to read it, and the following are a couple excerpts from the story.
       “Perhaps it went out with high-button shoes, kerosene lamps and the dependable old cob-burning stove,” the unknown author wrote.
       “Most farm families enjoyed three meals each day, but tradition decreed that Sunday dinner should be special,” noted the story. “The efficient hostess usually called her prospective guests during the middle of the week, if she was fortunate enough to have a telephone, which she cranked, and luckier still, to find a time when the lines weren’t busy. Visiting on a party line was both a necessity and a virtue. The faithful telephone operator was praised and condemned according to the whims of the caller on a particular day. If the Sunday guest contacted accepted the invitation, it meant some extra hurrying and scurrying to get all the little extra things done.”
      “Coffee was ground as needed and “settled” with a well-beaten egg; an ultra-clear beverage,” the story noted. “The grinder was usually square with a handle on top, and was held between the knees for ballast. Later, newfangled glass ones were fastened on the wall. Both creamer and sugar bowls were generous in size, and knew no competition from today’s substitutes.
        “Once the Sunday meal was prepared and served, Father sat at the head of the table and returned thanks for their many blessings and asked guidance for the footsteps of his offspring, who sat with heads bowed and hands folded.
      “Mother blushed at the many compliments that came as her delicious food was passed, and humbly apologized for not having had as good of luck as usual with some.
        “No radio interrupted with the noon weather forecast, nor did TV monopolize with a football game. After dinner, the men retired to the parlor, while the ladies did the dishes. Later all enjoyed the newest stereopticon views and the family photograph album.
      “Yes, each week still has a Sunday. People still eat, but with all of our modern packaged foods and efficient equipment it is easier to say, “Let’s go to the Redwood Inn (or some other restaurant) for dinner.”
            “America lost something when we put Sunday dinner “in mothballs.”
The Parker family table
        I don’t recall my mom entertaining that much as young lad growing up in Tulsa. Maybe she did more than I remember. Our dining room featured a large 48-inch round table with four wooden chairs. There were two additional leaves that stretched the table to 72-inches if the need arose.
           Mom kept the fine China in a kitchen cabinet and sitting atop the buffet, which was a bedroom dresser with a large mirror, was my mom’s silverware. It featured every type of China known to man in the large wooden China box.
        Each drawer of the buffet was filled with photos, linens, school papers from my brother and me and many other important papers.
           What I do remember are the many holiday meals, family birthdays and celebrations at our dining room table. In the early days of my youth, we always ate at home on Sundays after an earlier trip to the First Baptist Church to worship God.
            In later years, Sunday dinner was a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken’s finest. And if company was coming, that meant two buckets of chicken.
            We then started eating at the Eastside Café in Tulsa. They had the best greasy onion rings and country foods such as chicken fried steak, hamburger steak, meat loaf or a special of the day. Top that off with mashed potatoes with gravy, a vegetable and dinner rolls and one was in for a feast. And if we were lucky, we enjoyed a slice of homemade pie to top the noon meal off.
           And I would take the dinner check and add each meal in my head along with the tax to come up with a final tally, which I shared with the cashier. I was usually right on or only off a few cents.
          And of course, my dad refused to leave until he’d finished off atleast a pot of coffee, with the waitress stopping often to refill his cup. I enjoyed a cold glass of Pepsi or ice tea.
        What I do recall is the many holiday meals we enjoyed at our dining room table along with birthday celebrations and even my high school graduation party with family. I was tickled to have my family there while opening gifts and cards and enjoying a cake baked by my mom.
        My mom had a cake business and often was called on to bake and decorate a wedding cake or a birthday cake. She probably had 40 or more Wilton character cake pans she used in her business. 
            I remember one birthday when my dad bought me a pair of boots. My dad had to play a joke and hide one of the boots and wrap the other in birthday paper.
          He finally pulled the second boot from its hiding place and I could then wear my new boots.
          One Christmas eve when I was a youngster, I went to bed at 6 p.m., so Christmas would arrive sooner than later. I got up at 2 a.m. and couldn’t sleep any longer, so I woke the family and we all sat around the dining room table and opened our gifts, before going back to bed.
          I hold lots of great memories and enjoying tasty home-cooked meals in my heart and they will be with me all my life.
Always remember that Good Things are Happening, every day and always.