This morning I woke up and declared it “pajama” day. Of course I was totally lying to myself. There is no pajama day if you own farm animals. Unless it’s “dirty pajama day.” In which case you went out to feed your farm animals in your pajamas. Which I have never, ever done. Yes I have.
Stop for a moment. Imagine feeding your 800 pound boar in your PJ’s. For those of you who don’t have pigs or know their peculiarities, allow me to enlighten you. Pigs like to slop their wet, dirty-ass snouts all up and down your legs. It’s their way of saying “Hi! I’d like to lick your knees!” and sometimes… “Oh, hey there – nice pajamas.”
That’s pig love, man… Total filth and stink. Along with some grunting and snorting. But you roll with it because bacon is totally worth it. As are pork chops…
So I changed into more sensible barn attire and the thought of lounging in Pj’s on a lazy Sunday morning disappeared faster than a hot loaf of bread. *poof* Gone.
While in the barn doing chores I started thinking about my late Grandma – sweet, sweet Thelma. She passed away sixteen years ago, but I still reminisce about her Sunday dinners. They were always served at 4:00 p.m. No exceptions. And everything was always carried out in the same manner. No exceptions.
She’d pull out her best dishes and a table linen, and always set the table proper. You know – with the silverware, glasses, and everything in the correct place. And there was always pitcher of iced tea with lemons, covered in tiny beads of wet condensation brought on by the heat of the kitchen. And you had to eat your dinner in that hot kitchen – at the table – never in the living room watching Tv…
As a kid I thought this was torture. What if I missed the latest episode of Laverne & Shirley? How could I ever go on?
Dinner usually consisted of a roast or meatloaf, a mountain of homemade buttered egg noodles or potatoes (or both), a vegetable, a salad, a dish of canned peaches or homemade applesauce, bread and butter. There was always ice cream for dessert, and sometimes pie or cake. I liked Sundays. I loved Sunday dinners.
These days, I dread Sundays. I get a sinking feeling the minute I wake up in the morning, knowing tomorrow will be Monday and I have to go back to another long workweek. There are never any Sunday dinners to look forward to.
So I thought of an idea to try and change that attitude. I’ll make Sunday dinner. I won’t eat it in front of the Tv. And maybe (a big maybe)… if I enjoy a nice dinner on Sundays I won’t dread Mondays so much. This is another big fat lie. I’ll still dread Mondays.
Anyway, I made Pork Chops alla Pizzaiola with cabbage and mashers. A fantastic Sunday Dinner. Though I didn’t set my table as fabulous as my Grandma would… That many dishes would mean way too much work later on. That’s just plain crazy. My time is limited. I have evening farm chores to do and a huge, stinking pig waiting to lick my knees. ~A