Give Me That Gravy!

English: A small plate with a serving of mashe...

Finally, Sunday has arrived. I woke up early. Put the coffee maker to work. I glanced outside and I saw a peek of sunshine coming through the clouds. I am impressed. The outdoor thermometer says it is 20 degrees. Awesome! It is double digits.

I love Sundays. A day to spend with others in the assembly room. A day to sing and speak. No silence for today. I can wipe that off the calendar for today. I see that we are going to have ice and rain this afternoon. I am going to go pick up Al and let him pick out a place to eat. I am sure we will be back and I will be home before the ice comes and strands people inside their homes.

I say hi to mom and dad, and my grandparents and cousins as this is the day of the week that I would normally be visiting with them after church. If I listen very hard I can hear mom telling me she loves me. Is that her or is that my desire  to speak to her again?

I would inhale deeply as I walked into Grandma’s house. The smell of fried chicken would just make my mouth water. As I glanced around her tiny kitchen I would see home-made biscuits sitting on top of the stove to help keep them warm.

In the big cast iron skillet there would be gravy simmering. She would use the left-over drippings and bits of meat and stir flour and milk and oh the memories of that poured over some nice home-made mashed potatoes. I know, we don’t eat gravy today. It is bad for your health. I don’t even make it anymore. But you have to admit it was really delicious wasn’t it?

Grandma would never let it go to waste. After everyone was done eating she would be found lingering at the table dipping pieces of biscuits or bread in the gravy until it was gone. It can’t be that bad for you. She is 96 this year.

There would be frozen corn and canned green beans from the garden and sliced tomatoes that were guaranteed to cover a hamburger. For desserts there was at least two pies. Usually an apple and cherry or we sometimes received peach or black raspberry.

After everything was tidied up we would sit and chat for what seemed hours. We never ran out of things to say. All of us women and the little kids would stay inside and the men folk would go out to the barn or walk the land.

By the time supper rolled around no one was really hungry so piecing was the meal. Make your own supper. I am sure Mom enjoyed this as she didn’t have to cook. If you started cooking at the age of 21 and cooked until you reached the age of 65 you would be cooking for 528 months and 27,456 weeks of your life. What is the answer if you go ahead and figure out how many more times it is if you break it down into seven days a week and three times a day. Anyone have the answer? It is no wonder women all over the world love to be waited on by once in a while by having others cook for them.

Wow, those were the days! Today I have not done the math but how many of us eat out more than we eat at home? Busy schedules of taking kids to activities. Working and then adding over time on top of that. I can’t even begin to think about all the reasons we eat out instead of eating at home. Do you think this has anything to do with the huge weight gains over the years?

Well I have talked so much about those home cooked meals I am not getting hungry. I think I will go make myself a couple of eggs and one slice of whole wheat toast and start on my second cup of coffee. I will talk to you later on. Have a good morning!