Speaking of peanut butter sandwiches and bread and butter sandwiches--bread was a huge part of my early life. We always had bread; sometimes homemade but more and more often the fluffy, white bread known as "Wonder Bread." My dad started his own business, Dean Castings, Inc. and it took a lot more of his time. It was hard going and my Mom went to work there part-time to help out. These work days were the first time my brother and I had ever been by ourselves after school and we had a lot of fun eating. We would hunt up a full loaf of Wonder Bread and begin toasting it--two slices at a time; buttering each slice while it was still hot and downing them as quickly as we could put two more slices in the toaster until the whole loaf was gone. This was the only time in our lives that both of us got quite chubby.
Carbohydrates were a favorite, of course, and another meal that I remember really chowing was spaghetti. We didn't make the sauce separately and pour it over the spaghetti on our plates; rather we mixed it all together in a casserole dish and baked it with some cheese grated over. I can remember piling that spaghetti on my plate in a large mound, grating more cheese over it and going back for seconds. I felt as stuffed as I did on Thanksgiving. Of course, it was usually right out the door (at least in summer) to play neighborhood games.
Do kids still play neighborhood games? We played Free Eagle, Mother-may-I, Statues, Red Rover, and some I can't remember any more. We played until everyone's mother called us in (sometimes for the second or third time). Another summertime pursuit was Metho.
Metho was a language that I made up. I named it after my religion, Methodist. I must admit, that I was rather smitten with Mary Anne's Catholicism. It seemed she had so many special things in her religion that really appealed to a 9-year-old girl. For one thing, she received these great holy cards at school when she did well--and, of course, she had medals. Every May, she fixed a table in her room as a shrine to Mary and decorated it with crepe paper, statues and flowers. It was beautiful and I was jealous. So, having the teaching gene, I devised a language of my own, complete with a country (a Pacific Island, discovered by Captain Cook after the Hawaiian Islands), with a history that I taught as well. I worked hard on that language--it had characters--sort of a combination of Chinese characters and Arabic letters. Then, somehow, I convinced most of the kids in the neighborhood to come to "school" on our back-yard picnic table for a couple of hours every morning. For awhile, some of us could speak it rather well.
Another summer occupation was going to my grandparents'. My father's parents lived in Magnolia, Minnesota--a small town between Adrian and Luverne in the Southwest corner of the state. Magnolia was best known then for its steak house and as being the birth-place of Cedric Adams. Actually, there was a sign as you entered the town that said, "Magnolia, home of Cedric Adams" I wonder if anyone still remembers Cedric Adams? He was a columninst for the Minneapolis Star (or Tribune?--separate papers back then) and even more well-known as a radio announcer on WCCO. Cedric had a rich, bass, "radio" voice and was dearly loved. Grandpa Dean would come back from his blacksmith shop (about 100 yards from his house) at noon to have "dinner" and then lie down on the floor in front of Grandma's desk and usually blocking the doorway to have his nap and listen to "Cedric Adams and the noontime news."
We kids knew better than to bother him then.
When we arrived for our annual two weeks' visit, the first thing we did was head for the refrigerator for pop. Grandma stocked up on pop, which we rarely had at home and she usually had Dr. Pepper which I loved and I only had at Grandma's.
Grandma also had a great big garden full of vegetables and bordered by raspberry bushes. It was my happy job to pick peas and raspberries. When I picked peas, I shelled them for Grandma and many went straight into my mouth. Sweet, tender, young peas, just picked from the garden and eaten raw still linger in my memory as one of the great culinary treats. What she made for supper was even better: freshly dug new potatoes, boiled with their thin, tender jackets on and topped with freshly-picked, barely cooked peas in a light and buttery cream sauce. All summer our meals consisted of delights from Grandma's garden and the best part was the fresh raspberries, either crushed and poured on ice cream (from a near-by creamery) or just plain with cream and sugar.
My Grandfather was the oldest of 12 children, most of whom lived in or around Magnolia. My father was the oldest of his family and therefore, I had a lot of "cousins" who were my age and lived in town. I remember when I was very small and Grandma sent me overtown to get the mail and something at the General Store. When I went into the postoffice, the postmistress addressed me by name and asked me how my Dad was. Then I went next door to the General Store and the storekeeper knew my name too, and also asked about my family by name. I went back to the house thinking I must be very famous that everyone knew me.
One of those "cousins" was Sharon Dean who was just my age and lived across the street from Grandma and Grandpa. We were constant companions in the summer. I remember the summer that I was nine, my brother held court in the ditch in front of Grandma's house, telling Sharon and I his newly-learned information on the birds and the bees. He strung it out for several days and had a fascinated and captive audience. I didn't believe a word of it.
Carbohydrates were a favorite, of course, and another meal that I remember really chowing was spaghetti. We didn't make the sauce separately and pour it over the spaghetti on our plates; rather we mixed it all together in a casserole dish and baked it with some cheese grated over. I can remember piling that spaghetti on my plate in a large mound, grating more cheese over it and going back for seconds. I felt as stuffed as I did on Thanksgiving. Of course, it was usually right out the door (at least in summer) to play neighborhood games.
Do kids still play neighborhood games? We played Free Eagle, Mother-may-I, Statues, Red Rover, and some I can't remember any more. We played until everyone's mother called us in (sometimes for the second or third time). Another summertime pursuit was Metho.
Metho was a language that I made up. I named it after my religion, Methodist. I must admit, that I was rather smitten with Mary Anne's Catholicism. It seemed she had so many special things in her religion that really appealed to a 9-year-old girl. For one thing, she received these great holy cards at school when she did well--and, of course, she had medals. Every May, she fixed a table in her room as a shrine to Mary and decorated it with crepe paper, statues and flowers. It was beautiful and I was jealous. So, having the teaching gene, I devised a language of my own, complete with a country (a Pacific Island, discovered by Captain Cook after the Hawaiian Islands), with a history that I taught as well. I worked hard on that language--it had characters--sort of a combination of Chinese characters and Arabic letters. Then, somehow, I convinced most of the kids in the neighborhood to come to "school" on our back-yard picnic table for a couple of hours every morning. For awhile, some of us could speak it rather well.
Another summer occupation was going to my grandparents'. My father's parents lived in Magnolia, Minnesota--a small town between Adrian and Luverne in the Southwest corner of the state. Magnolia was best known then for its steak house and as being the birth-place of Cedric Adams. Actually, there was a sign as you entered the town that said, "Magnolia, home of Cedric Adams" I wonder if anyone still remembers Cedric Adams? He was a columninst for the Minneapolis Star (or Tribune?--separate papers back then) and even more well-known as a radio announcer on WCCO. Cedric had a rich, bass, "radio" voice and was dearly loved. Grandpa Dean would come back from his blacksmith shop (about 100 yards from his house) at noon to have "dinner" and then lie down on the floor in front of Grandma's desk and usually blocking the doorway to have his nap and listen to "Cedric Adams and the noontime news."
We kids knew better than to bother him then.
When we arrived for our annual two weeks' visit, the first thing we did was head for the refrigerator for pop. Grandma stocked up on pop, which we rarely had at home and she usually had Dr. Pepper which I loved and I only had at Grandma's.
Grandma also had a great big garden full of vegetables and bordered by raspberry bushes. It was my happy job to pick peas and raspberries. When I picked peas, I shelled them for Grandma and many went straight into my mouth. Sweet, tender, young peas, just picked from the garden and eaten raw still linger in my memory as one of the great culinary treats. What she made for supper was even better: freshly dug new potatoes, boiled with their thin, tender jackets on and topped with freshly-picked, barely cooked peas in a light and buttery cream sauce. All summer our meals consisted of delights from Grandma's garden and the best part was the fresh raspberries, either crushed and poured on ice cream (from a near-by creamery) or just plain with cream and sugar.
My Grandfather was the oldest of 12 children, most of whom lived in or around Magnolia. My father was the oldest of his family and therefore, I had a lot of "cousins" who were my age and lived in town. I remember when I was very small and Grandma sent me overtown to get the mail and something at the General Store. When I went into the postoffice, the postmistress addressed me by name and asked me how my Dad was. Then I went next door to the General Store and the storekeeper knew my name too, and also asked about my family by name. I went back to the house thinking I must be very famous that everyone knew me.
One of those "cousins" was Sharon Dean who was just my age and lived across the street from Grandma and Grandpa. We were constant companions in the summer. I remember the summer that I was nine, my brother held court in the ditch in front of Grandma's house, telling Sharon and I his newly-learned information on the birds and the bees. He strung it out for several days and had a fascinated and captive audience. I didn't believe a word of it.
No comments:
Post a Comment