The chipped linoleum on my grandparent’s kitchen floor was off-white as I recall, and it looked as though it had been there since sometime in the 1940s. The counter tops were worn and stained Formica, and I suspect they had been installed about the same time as the flooring.
Across from the radiator on the south side of the room was the American made refrigerator. It too appeared to be from sometime in the 1940s…and at least to me, it seemed to be one of the first post-ice box electrical appliances that actually contained a condenser to refrigerate air. It was white enamel, and judging from the huge chromed latch handle that looked better suited as a hatch on a WWII era submarine and it may have just as well been built by the U.S. Navy. Though I never had to lift it, I suspected it weighed about 1,000 pounds. If you opened the freezer door (on top behind the big door), the actual freezer compartment always appeared to be filled with about 50% frost. On top of the refrigerator was a worn King James bible, and a small monthly daily devotional called "Our Daily Bread."
Immediately to the left of the refrigerator was door to the cellar. I only went down there a handful of times, but the floor was dirt and the cinder block walls were lined with shallow shelving that were full of canning jars. You had to walk down in dark or with a flashlight, because the pull-chain for the dim 60-watt bulb was at the bottom of the stairs. The dank room seemed pretty gross to me, and I was always amazed when someone would venture down there to fetch a jar of canned peaches or some such so that we might have fruit for our noontime dinner...late-afternoon lunch or maybe in the evening for supper.
Behind the back door over by the staircase that went to a storage room above the kitchen, were a couple of old cans, hanging winter barn coats and some old rifles leaning against the wall. One of those guns was a loaded 410 shotgun that my grandparents used to keep by the door at the farm. It was handy to have ready in the event that a pheasant appeared or a wild turkey sauntered by...but that was about all. That gun sat there for at least 40 plus years (probably longer), and to my knowledge nobody ever got a hankering to take it to a cafe, post office, school or to the local movie house...or anywhere where they'd do anything but target practice or hunt. That 410 (unloaded) hangs in the basement of my home now...and an ocassional glance at it is always reminder of a much simpler time.
In the center of the room, between the refrigerator and the radiator, the four-seat kitchen table had a Formica top with a metal band around the perimeter. The table's chairs were metal too, with plastic seat cushions. In all my years visiting that house, from sometime in the 1960s until the early 1990s, I don't believe that table ever changed.
Behind the back door over by the staircase that went to a storage room above the kitchen, were a couple of old cans, hanging winter barn coats and some old rifles leaning against the wall. One of those guns was a loaded 410 shotgun that my grandparents used to keep by the door at the farm. It was handy to have ready in the event that a pheasant appeared or a wild turkey sauntered by...but that was about all. That gun sat there for at least 40 plus years (probably longer), and to my knowledge nobody ever got a hankering to take it to a cafe, post office, school or to the local movie house...or anywhere where they'd do anything but target practice or hunt. That 410 (unloaded) hangs in the basement of my home now...and an ocassional glance at it is always reminder of a much simpler time.
In the center of the room, between the refrigerator and the radiator, the four-seat kitchen table had a Formica top with a metal band around the perimeter. The table's chairs were metal too, with plastic seat cushions. In all my years visiting that house, from sometime in the 1960s until the early 1990s, I don't believe that table ever changed.
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| The Table |
Growing up in Los Angeles, I wasn’t there for every breakfast at that North Dakota table, but every morning I was, the ritual was always exactly the same. The menu didn’t vary much. It was usually some variation of fried eggs cooked in bacon grease, some type of meat (usually bacon), piles of white toast (usually Wonder bread), and slabs of real Land O’ Lakes butter. Slabs. The coffee was made by pouring the coffee grounds directly into the boiling water. There was always real cream and a bowl of sugar cubes on the table, and my grandpa would pour his coffee onto the saucer (to let it cool) and slurp it off the small dish... often while sucking on a sugar cube.
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| No Whole Grain Here |
Once we were done eating, grandpa would fetch the old bible and the daily devotional from the top of the refrigerator. In all the days I was in that house, I don’t ever recall him missing this daily routine. He would read the assigned short simple lesson from the pamphlet, and then recite a couple of bible passages from the associated scripture. After that, he would slap the bible shut and enthusiastically pray in a thick a thick Swedish accent. Every day until she passed away, he would ask for relief for my ailing grandmother, and usually request some help to ensure a bountiful harvest. On the days I was there, he would almost always include thanks for the visit and appeal for my safe return trip home. In my mind’s eye, I can see us all sitting there like it was yesterday.
As for me, I don’t remember the last time I even looked at a bible. To be honest, I’m not sure where that prized book I received in confirmation even is. I know I’ve looked up some verses up electronically for some teaching that I do (looking up the Golden Rule and such), but that was all online. I may have picked up a large print bible in a Barnes and Noble a few years ago but that was only to get a sense of how it might work as a Christmas present for my mom. Other than the gospel music I play occasionally with a buddy at a bar in Old Town now and then, I really have almost no remaining connection to the devotion that was so central to my grandfather’s life...and once so central to mine.
As for me, I don’t remember the last time I even looked at a bible. To be honest, I’m not sure where that prized book I received in confirmation even is. I know I’ve looked up some verses up electronically for some teaching that I do (looking up the Golden Rule and such), but that was all online. I may have picked up a large print bible in a Barnes and Noble a few years ago but that was only to get a sense of how it might work as a Christmas present for my mom. Other than the gospel music I play occasionally with a buddy at a bar in Old Town now and then, I really have almost no remaining connection to the devotion that was so central to my grandfather’s life...and once so central to mine.
What’s all this mean? Well, if you’ve been reading this for any length of time, you know better than to presume I know. I really don't have a clue other than I heard this morning’s song on Pandora earlier in the week, and I guess it just got me to thinking about that kitchen table. As I get older and find my self reminiscing, it's always about times like these and seldom ever about work.
Whatever you’re doing the next two days, try to make it a truly wonderful weekend. If you can, steal away some time and do something that counts with your family and friends. At the end of the line, these will be the times that matter most.
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