This morning I sit in the spot my father occupied most evenings during the summer as I grew up.
In his webbed chair that glided back and forth, he’d sit with his cup of tea after dinner and watch the neighborhood go by. We might sit near by on the metal couch glider reading a book.
The Porch
Was he surveying what needed to be done around the yard? Mowing the lawn was the main focus as there were no shrubs and the trees and bushes were growing “naturally”. He was not a man who enjoyed taking care of yard work and we three girls did our share of mowing the lawn (we enjoyed the exercise!). Or was he just enjoying the view, our company, and counting his blessings?
I know he would have sat here on a Sunday morning like I am as there would be a flurry of preparation for 9:15 mass. But after Sunday midday dinner, he’d be here listening to his radio with a ballgame on or country music, watching the neighborhood go by.
Which food, when you eat it, instantly transports you to childhood?
I grew up in a traditional household in the 60s and 70s. Sundays involved the 9:15 mass, picking up newspapers (New Haven Register, New York Daily News, Boston paper) with the possibility of a comic at Boylans, and a stop at my aunt’s house before we were home. Once home, we read the papers, and waited for Sunday Dinner which happened anywhere between Noon and 2 p.m. Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating, but some Sundays it felt like it was that late because everyone else was out playing while we were still waiting to eat!
Except for that rare Sunday when we got Kentucky Fried Chicken….
Kentucky Fried Chicken. There was a store across the street from our church that opened at noon. On those Sundays (usually during the summer), my mom would head back out to pick up a box or bucket. They would also get the cole slaw and mashed potatoes and gravy that went with it.
Oh that chicken! So crunchy and greasy. I probably ate it for the skin more for the chicken. You can have those big old chicken breasts at the bottom of the box or bucket! Give me a leg or thigh for that juicy dark meat. As a last resort, I’d eat the breast but I’d need a lot of cranberry sauce to wash it down.
My father would jokingly swear that the cole slaw tasted “just like ice cream” and I’m sure we choked it down. Not like now – I love cole slaw!
Stores still exist, but the one across from our church is long gone and it’s probably a good thing because, like anything else that tastes so delicious, that skin is not good for you!
The last time I had it was in 2022 when we were traveling in California to visit my father in law and we stopped to pick it up and bring it for a dinner with him. It was as good as I remembered it and I’m sure as I did every other time I ate it, I told my husband the stories of my families KFC Sunday dinners.
Tonight on Spring Baking Championship on HGTV, one of the challenges was for the bakers to elevate one of their favorite childhood desserts. That got me thinking about MY favorite childhood desserts.
My uncle on my mother’s side was a baker. I don’t know if he learned his trade in the army or by osmosis from my grandmother. He owned his own bakery for a few years and, after closing it, worked first at the local prep school, until finally settling in as the baker at Masonic Home and Hospital, a rehabilitation hospital and nursing home for people who were members of the Masonic Temple Association.
This man made the most INCREDIBLE baked goods. It’s amazing that he could make hundreds of desserts for the people at Masonic using these huge tubs for the dough and ovens to bake in and each one tasted as delicious as if it was one of only a dozen.
My favorites were his chocolate eclairs. They were all one piece filled with cream and delicious chocolate on top.
Chocolate Eclair (from the internet)
His cream puffs! Oh my word! Filled with delightful air pockets stuffed with cream.
Cream Puffs (internet photo)
He also made something called a Hermit Cookie. I found it quickly online. They were square bar cookies with ginger and molasses and raisins. One version I found is called New England Hermit Cookie Bar with the story that they date back to the Pilgrims and they were good for travel because they were dense and stayed moist for up to two weeks! Maybe his mother, my grandmother, brought the recipe with her when she immigrated from the Galician area of Poland in the early 1900s!
From thelemonbowl.com recipe
I do remember my uncle’s Hermit cookies being overall dark like the inside of this one.
In addition to his job and making desserts for family events, he made the wedding cakes for my mother, and for my cousin.
We did not have homemade desserts in our house. They were store bought cookies and pastries. My mother worked full time and she wasn’t really a baker, with the exception of the four layer chocolate cake with whipped cream filling and chocolate frosting we requested for our family birthday parties! She never said no! There would always be cake left over and we would eat that until there wasn’t a crumb left anywhere.
“I expect my mother’s fear of decimal currency was related to her dislike of math, which is a common fear often dating back to a cruel teacher.” – Cherry in Here One Moment by Liane Moriarty.
Oh, that hit me right in the memories!
I don’t think Sister Holly Jean my third grade teacher at Holy Trinity School was intentionally being mean. There were two math groups and two reading groups, and when you’ve already spent 2 years with the same kids, you know which is which.
I bounced back and forth between those two math groups throughout 3rd grade. Long division was my nemesis! Carrying the what because it’s not equal where? My mother brought home waste letter paper from work and filled them with division problems for me to solve.
I survived third grade math but I was never the same afterwards. Math just continued to beat me down year after year. Algebra, Geometry, even review math in 12th grade was a struggle.
Ironically, I really enjoyed Accounting in high school and college and handle the (Quick)books for our company.
Religion: “the service and worship of God or the supernatural” or “a particular system of faith and worship”.
I attended Holy Trinity School from first to eighth grade. Every Sunday we attended 9:15 mass at Holy Trinity Church.
I made my first communion in third grade, and my confirmation in sixth grade, and our eighth grade graduation was at the church.
Through high school, college, and until my mother passed away when I was 27, when I was home, I attended church with my family.
During that phase of my life my religion fell into the “a particular system of faith and worship” category. I felt like I was always being talked at.
About 10 years ago, I began exploring other options of religion. I tried the episcopal church, the baptist church, the local non-denominational church, and even met with the Jehovah Witness ladies who knocked on my door!
I found that I really enjoyed the non-denominational church because it felt like everyone was involved in the ceremony. I read and learned more about the Bible than I did in my years at school. I loved the music too!
This began my “service and worship of God (or the supernatural)” phase. Although I don’t attend the church anymore, I feel closer to God than I ever did before.
It was a sunny Saturday in September of 1972 and I was 12 years old.
My childhood (and current) home
One of my sisters and a friend or two were performing flips in the front year. We would start from the steps and head towards the flag pole.
I completed a few flips, but on the last attempt I ran, flipped, and landed on the top of my right foot. There was intense pain and I couldn’t walk. We all shouted for my mother. She came out and off the two of us went to the emergency room. We waited for a few hours for X-rays that confirmed I broke a little bone in the back of my ankle. I came home in a cast to my knee and crutches.
My diary entry!
It was a miserable 8 weeks. First with the crutches, and then with a “walking cast” which back then was a rubber block they attached to the bottom of the cast. In my case even with my highest heel on the other side, I was still lopsided, walking like Peg-Leg Pete! I would have been better off with crutches. What a relief it was when the cast finally came off but how weird my leg looked!
But I wasn’t the only one who suffered that weekend….
The incident happened on Saturday, September 9, 1972. My older sister’s 14th birthday and the family party was scheduled for the next day. My mother was in the process of baking her delicious 4 layer chocolate cake with whipped cream between layers and covered with chocolate frosting. She was likely making whatever meal we would be eating beforehand.
Aha! proof that I didn’t spoil the party, just “her day”!
I’ve written about my home before but now I’m exploring the house, the area surrounding it, and the family who built it.
My family and I moved into this home I now own on Memorial Day weekend in 1961.
My parents had previously been renting a home 2 blocks from my maternal grandmother for a few years.
They found this gem of a home – Dutch colonial, 4 bedrooms, eat in kitchen and dining room, living room with a fireplace, and a beautiful covered side porch. It was just under a half acre and had a 1 car (maybe 2) garage and old chicken coop. It had a walk up attic and a walk out basement.
Picture taken from area currently Lincoln Drive by future neighborCurrent location still has telephone pole. Structure from other picture and an additional one (unknown)
The previous owners, the Atkinsons, built the house sometime in the mid-20s. He was the personnel manager at H.L. Judd until his 1949 retirement but was also a “gentleman farmer” and sold baby chicks! Mr. Atkinson passed away in March of 1960 and a year later, Mrs. Atkinson was ready to sell.
The cost of the house was $25,000. My maternal grandmother gave them the $5,000 and they took out a mortgage for the rest. In a sweet coincidence, my paternal great grandmother gave my grandparents the down payment for their house in 1925.
The yard still contained what we called the chicken coop which my father took down and left the foundation. This brought years of fun playing on it because it was level from one part of the yard and “so high!” from another side and the back. We raced around on the edge for years.
I’m not sure where he was breeding his chicks for 15 years, prior to this 1927 ad but he appears to be quite well known. This will require some more research!
January 1927 advertisement9/5/1932 permit notice
There was also a cherry trees, apple trees, a grape arbor, rhubarb, and asparagus that continued to grow for years in “the way back”. Brambles of raspberries, and a mulberry tree rounded out the fruit.
9/1938 advertisement11/1938 advertisement
There are only 2 remaining apple trees just off our property with only one producing any apples. I determined it was a Wealthy apple from the advertisement and googling the apple. “Wealthy apple trees bear heavily and is very cold hearty, but also fruits in low chill locations. It’s a favorite for home orchards in Minnesota and the East.
If you had to give up one word that you use regularly, what would it be?
If you have watch “The Good Place” you’ll remember Eleanor, played by Kristin Bell, has lost the ability to swear so F*(#, becomes Fork.
My first recollection of saying the word was when I was 11 or 12 and said “Fongool” at the dinner table! Oooh, even with non-Italian parents, they knew what I was saying!
It can be a noun, verb, adjective, and adverb. Very versatile! It pops out of my mouth in personal conversations and it’s probably why my public conversation sentences are a little more measured.
Whether you say “freaking” or “fracking”, or “forks” it’s still the same thought. I think it’s time for me to give them all a rest. There may be some conversations that I’ll be totally mute but hey, it’s worth a try!
Thoughts From The Passenger Seat 