I almost blew the day!

I consider Sunday one of the best days of the week. Sure, I have to hurry to get chores done, check the gates and get ready for church. We usually have a light breakfast on Sunday, scrambled eggs and toast, because my close relative gets dinner started, and I do like that. We enjoy the church services and visiting and then home for that great Sunday dinner. Some of the family usually comes in with extra food, some desserts and lots of laughter. I mean, what day would be better?

Ask me that again sometime. My close relative is a dandy cook and fixes wonderful stuff, like pots of brown beans, beef roasts, chicken and dumplings and all that good rib-sticking food that keeps the place fueled up and running. I don’t ever know what to expect on the table, and far be it from me to inquire into her business. My mistake this last Sunday!

The female offspring came in the kitchen door with a basket full of food and all their very smart and perfect offspring. I am the grandfather, so I can say that. I followed and went on to wash up and get myself ready for the feast. The noise on Sunday just before the meal is about the sweetest music a feller could hear — laughing and fussing and dishes clattering.

We always use the big oak table for Sunday dinner and it was full and extra chairs added. I sat in my spot, my close relative at my left and surrounded by well-scrubbed faces and smiles. Then the blessing that pours from my heart and we are ready to pass the bounty for plate filling!

Do you know what came first? Little green cabbages were handed to me, not a small bowl but a platter full of them. OK, I took a couple of them.

Then deviled eggs, I didn’t know you could serve eggs for Sunday. So I took one. I was sure the next would be better. It wasn’t. I was holding a bowl full of something sorta pale in color, looked like it had strong fibers like hemp rope in it and so I sorta lifted it to get a smell. My shin felt a little nudge so I just took a spoonful. Then came the salad, I could smell it. I thought tuna was endangered and we shouldn’t kill them!

I will never know who planned that meal. I wouldn’t ask on a hundred dollar bet and it will always be the meal we never talk about! The secret stuff with rope in it was that great and tasty butternut squash that is only good for hollowing out the rind,

drying it and making a dipper at the windmill. I would prefer an old tin can.

So dinner was over, at last! Our female offspring is several years younger than her brothers, so we have the little grands to play with from her. She has a dandy husband, a good addition to our wild bunch, and so they saved the day, and maybe my life. I managed to eat enough pie and cookies to fill up and then we retired to the yard for running and giggling.

The old farm is blessed on Sundays. We seldom have 911 type disasters, runaway cattle or drowning episodes on the day of rest. The only almost tragedy was when I stood and excused myself from the table, scraped my plate into the garbage disposal and cut the pie! I took the two oldest toddlers to the barn and saddled up the little spotted pony who thought he had retired and led them around for a while. What a great way to finish the day!

It is my opinion, and everyone has one, I almost blew the day. I wanted to rant and rail about the lack of my favorite foods. I believe the Lord just put his finger in my face and shook it! So I ate pie, and it was perfect, and then played with wonderful little children who bear some resemblance to all of us. Blessings that could have been lost and never would return, except I didn’t miss them! Let that be a thought when you don’t get your way next time, keep your cool, eat peanut butter and jelly or crackers but keep your cool. Sundays come around at least once a week anyway!