No tradition involving a single food stands out in my memory, but every Sunday the entire family, aunts, uncles, cousins gathered at Grandma’s. Grandma Powell’s kitchen was the hub of activity. With up to 25 people in the house at one time it seemed that if you were not in the kitchen at some point you missed everything that happened. My mother and her brothers always told stories about their adventures. Always hilarious. Conversations circled ‘round often and if you missed the story, you missed the joke, forever. As a first born I am inherently nosy and that would leave me irritated for days.
The carpet in the kitchen had blue and green diamonds joining into a circle inside a square. The carpet was old and there was a roll in the carpet right in the path between Grandpa’s chair and the refrigerator. This was a disaster waiting to happen and many of us little ones fell for its charms.
In the kitchen was a yellow dining table. A 1950’s yellow-indestructible, heavy formica table. How do I know it’s heavy? I moved it to Missouri with me; seriously indestructible.
Many meals were hosted in that kitchen, at that table, but what I remember most were the canaries, holidays, and the cakes. Canaries? you ask. Yes, canaries, the small yellow birds that sing their hearts out. My grandmother raised them. She must have had almost 30 birds. She was an expert, she mated them and then sold them. She must have had a hook up, many birds went in and out of that kitchen. If you sat in the living room and the birds were convinced they were alone they would sing, like a concert.
Cakes were another hobby of my grandmother. She made and decorated birthday cakes and wedding cakes. The wall in the stairway to the basement was lined with cake pans. Each grandchild got a cake on their birthday. My birthday fell on my uncle’s, but we were given separate cakes! She made me a Barbie cake one year. The most memorable cake was for my cousin. It was very elaborate, the base was a basket and above the basket held up by tall straws was a balloon--hot air balloon cake. She had gone all out with the decoration, little flowers on the ground, a stripe pattern in frosting on the balloon. The candles were lit and we all started singing “Happy Birthday”, before the song was finished the balloon exploded and frosting flew to the far reaches of the kitchen. My cousin cried and cried, but the rest of us...ugly snorting laughter.
During holidays we would all gather at the table. As the family grew a small table was added, still in the kitchen. Eventually we spread out all over the house to eat. And in an attempt to keep us in one room we set up dinner in the basement at the pool table.
So many memories are associated with the kitchen and the table. When we were young we would enter the house and immediately search for the leftover frosting. We would sit at the table eating the rich treat with our fingers. She also made sugar cookies that I have yet to replicate. At the table we ate breakfast with uncle Marvin when we spent the night. I learned that Wheaties are disgusting. After breakfast, Grandma would let me set the table for a tea party. During that game the table was mine.
Every year the kids and the aunts would join Grandma slicing and dividing strawberries for freezing; I swear there were 20 pounds strawberries, our fingers were purple for days. They also canned pickles and tomatoes.
This is the table we sat at when we filled out thank you notes after she died. And this is the table where my dad made a care schedule when my grandpa went into hospice care.
I like the table because it is yellow, because it is old, because it is indestructible. When it was time to move to Missouri, I called my uncle and asked if I could have it. I defend vehemently this table every time someone says I need to get a new table. II will not get rid of the table, that sucker is an heirloom. Grandma would not approve of this, she would say get rid of it, but it is too much of my memory.
Today I made snickerdoodles and my grandmother’s frosting. I still cannot make the cookies the way she made them. Apparently this secret is not meant to be repeated.
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