Suppertime

     Years ago, as a young mother, I began to realize how much I was like my parents.  I sounded just like mama on the day our oldest daughter, then a toddler, turned her back to me and purposefully began to walk across the library to investigate.  I began my correction with a firm, "I'll give you once...."  I literally turned around to see if mama was standing behind me.  I follow the news, grumble about politics and worry over the future of our country, just like daddy.  However, it took me becoming a grandmother to begin to see how much I take after my grandmothers.  It is a comfortable feeling overall, but a bit disconcerting at times.
     The grandchildren called mama's mother, Grandmama.  It was known to all that Grandmama ran a tight ship.  Her motto was, "A place for everything and everything in its place."  That was a difficult concept to handle when I woke up early one dark morning to go to the bathroom and returned to find the bed made with several fancy, lacy pillows arranged neatly at the head of the bed.  Obviously, it was time to get up.  I wondered sleepily into the living room and saw her busily preparing breakfast. There was nothing to do, but perch on the edge of the couch, barely touching the overstuffed, colorful, sofa pillows that were  arranged symmetrically at both ends, and await further instructions.
     The grandchildren called daddy's mother, Grandmommy.  The name Gramdmama was taken and she didn't want to be called Granny.  Later in life she told me that if she had known she was going to live so long, she would have chosen something else.  Both grandmothers woke up in the early hours of the morning to prepare a fine breakfast for their husbands, but the similarity ended there.  Once again, I awoke early one morning, while it was still dark, in time to give Granddaddy a hug and kiss good-bye before he went to work.  Grandmommy and I were still in pajamas, so after a fond farewell, we did the most sensible thing possible: checked that the stove was off, piled the dishes in the sink, and went back to bed until a decent hour.
     In my mind, I want to be like Grandmama when it comes to fixing a nice dinner, setting the table and saying the prayer before dinner.  It never mattered if company was coming or not, the table was beautiful: each place setting laid out with care, folded napkins, glittering silverware, sparking ice-tea glasses, lacy tablecloth, and decorative serving dishes laden with good home-made food.  She fixed a juicy, tender pot roast with potatoes and carrots, made creamy scalloped potatoes, and served up Spam breaded in cracker crumbs and fried in butter. She even promised desert, after you cleaned your plate, by including a small desert dish to the left of the plate.  Desert could be pudding with a few vanilla wafers, a slice of toasted pound cake, or a dish of ice-cream.  Meals were delicious, on time and attendance was required.
     In reality, I am more like daddy's mother, when it comes to meals.  She owned many cookbooks, some of which have been passed on to me.  She particularly seemed to like the cookbooks with ideas for what to have for dinner.  Along with her recipes, she has copious lists of menus, groceries, and ideas paper-clipped to various pages.  Thankfully, the window wash solution made with kerosene is clearly marked POISON.  Even with all the suggestions, dinner time at Grandmommy's didn't go as smoothly.  Dinner time was whenever time dinner got ready, and that could change depending on whether she had to go to the store first or not.  Everyone sat to the table for the blessing, and  almost everyone sat to the table to eat.  As soon as Granddaddy said the blessing, "Lord, for this food, make us truly thankful,"  Grandmommy would pop up from her seat to retrieve or check on something she left in the kitchen.  Even with all the chaos, Grandmommy made the best grits for breakfast, the tastiest potato salad, and the most colorful congeal salads.
     My intentions are good, I know how to cook, and I own hundreds, (yes hundreds) of cookbooks, but the execution of my best-laid plans are sketchy.  The table becomes the temporary landing place for the mail, library books, ironing, tools, school books, and laptops.  By the time dinner is ready, we sit in our recliners in front of the television and discuss the day's events during commercial breaks or whenever the Internet streaming gets bogged down and has to catch up.  In addition, on Monday and Tuesday, IHOP has buy one-get-on deals for senior citizens, age 55 and up, so we tend to eat out regularly.  I think that is the closest we have been to a sit-down meal in the last month.  (The new school year began, but that will be another blog entry.)  It is sad to see dinner time fading away like land-line phones, board games, and snail mail.
     Once again, I am setting a goal of having a healthy dinner ready, at a suitable time.  I would love for us to sit down at the table to eat.  I even have the table cloth on the table and a colorful fall flower arrangement for a centerpiece.  So, here I sit with a stack of cookbooks, a collection of favorite recipes, and a notepad to make a grocery list.  In true Doodlebug fashion, I am not giving up my dream of having a nice, sit-down dinner, as a family, with time out to say a decent thank-you for our blessings. So, this week I vow to do better: clean out the refrigerator, make a meal plan, clean off the dining room table, and enlist the family's help.  We'll see how it goes.

Grandmama's Fried Spam

1 can of Spam, sliced about 1/4" thick

   2 eggs, beaten with a fork

saltine cracker crumbs

butter

Melt the butter in the pan.

Dip a slice of Spam into the egg

and then into the cracker crumbs.

Fry in the melted butter, until

golden brown on both sides.