It's what I like about Sundays.

 

     Growing up in The Redmond House, I always believed was much better then other places I had seen or was able to visit. Everything there seemed larger then life & fairy tale perfect. Our house was almost "the White picket fence" dream type only the boards around my home were stained a Redwood color. I lived up a long windy road which mind you I just HATED to walk back to from school during the pre-Summer vacation days. The back yard was huge! 80 feet of window stretched from the kitchen to the Livingroom where you could sit inside watching the squirrels, possums & racoon play. We had a hammock that tied from one tree to the other so that when it got really hot the shade of the old maple would let you think it was always a cool, crisp Autumn day. There were cherry trees, plum trees and a old worn circular dirt path my dog used to run on. We had a grape arbor, a swimming pool and a slightly rusted shed that held torn boxes of things that once were desperately "needed" until newer things came along. The stars were bright, the songs were loud and laugher always filled the air making this place H<3ME! This was where I always wanted to be. Now. When I graduated. When I got married & when I grew older but not fragile. I wanted to raise my kids & my grandkids there. 

     Another thing that made it an unmistakable Heaven was My Grandmother's cooking. I won't say everything was "finger lickin' good" but something might have been considered even better by this once picky eater. Many days as I arrived at the front door after school, I could smell warmth calling me inside. My Grandmother often made Parker House Rolls. She always made them from scratch. I knew this because for days there were flour fingerprints on everything. If you have never had bread like this, child you are missing a whole nother life. Hot & fresh, butter melting, running down your arms. Mmmmmm. 

     It might sound insane but there was always homemade French Fries too. Anytime I wanted them. Not these dried up over salted, ice cold things you have come to enjoy these days but real freshly peeled, thinly sliced, perfectly seasoned potatoes straight out of the bubbling oil onto a plate.
      She would also make the most delightful Blackberry pies. I hate the taste of blackberries but more then that, I hated having to pick those tiny little things in the dead heat of Summer in the middle of no place back on The Farm Road. I will admit that I did moan and complain a lot while I was having a tug of war between those nasty little things and the vines they grew on but tell ya what ... the second that hunk of berry pie slathered in a scoop of vanilla ice cream was set in front of me made it all the crankiness disappear. I have long forgotten about the salt incident when our oven caught on fire, the pie being ruined so don't ask me about it. 
      Grandma always made sure that for my Birthday's I had a homemade Mayonnaise Cake covered in Homemade Buttercream frosting that was a "surprise" for when the singing started. I have found different recipes to recreate one of these over the years yet even though the kids all loved them, they just weren't the same as the ones I was served growing up.
      On days that she would become board or maybe not so board, Grandpa and myself were always able to enjoy treats of freshly made Cream Puffs. They were so light, so airy that, that first bite was like floating on your own special cloud.
      One of the things I do remember very well was her Meat Pies. That is something I would have rather starved over then eaten. Meat? Onions? A weird kind of Gravy? In a pie shell? Like who ruins a perfectly good pie shell by stuffing all that "garbage" into it? Not me. I stood by that. Only in later years did I discover how my taste palates could dance. I regret never sampling such a hearty, filling, good for your soul dish earlier. 
      Come Easter time or the 2 weeks leading up to it our home was transformed into a make-shift bakery for Hot Cross Buns. There were hundreds made and given out. The biggest plate being saved for our Holiday Brunch. Hot Cross Buns. Those are something I never understood the texture of: They were like a dense bread of a sort filled with raisins and crossed with a sticky powdered sugar mixture. I didn't much care for them then and still don't now though I think if My Grandma was still here concocting batch after batch, they might just become my new favorite.

     There was always something being 'whipped' up or rolled out at our house.
I am not sure why it was back then that everything needed to be or just taste better being homemade but now I understand it much more clear. All the fast food places and tv dinners, I pity kids growing up in this day and time. I guess the just of the saying is right, kids now a days need to spend time on the front porch snapping peas with their Grandparents and learn the basics of canning, pickling and growing their own meals.

     I was one of the lucky ones. We always had everything we could ever want or need but that didn't stop My Grandmother from making her own Jam & Jelly or rolling out and slicing homemade Pasta Noodles on any given day.

     Having Polish, German & Italian in us, I can't remember a moment that something wasn't being perfected at our place. There was homemade sausage hanging in the laundry room, the smoker on the side of the garage was cooking up a few salmon dinners while the Root Beer under the house was popping its top letting us know it was ready for us to enjoy paired up with on the spot churned Vanilla Bean ice cream. We had endless jars full of canned Peaches, Pears, Corn, Green Beans, Plums, Sauerkraut and just about every other good thing you could think of at our beck and call.

     Sunday mornings were always the best. Waking up to Grandpas fried Potato & Onion combination was sure to put you in a good enough mood to make it through the week a head. Some Sundays he would be up much earlier then others so he could make his all day Spaghetti Sauce. I wasn't much of a fan of the red stuff but I ate it anyways because watching how much time he put into it, the spices, the seasonings, the hours upon hours it took simmering until it was done ... how could it not be a mouth tasting explosion? It never failed to do so.
     
     Thinking back to the good old days when everything was so much more simple, I wish my kids could have been a part of that era. One that no longer exists through all the hurry up and buy World that we live in today. I hope though that I can in someway sprinkle a little of the magic I had cover me while I was their age and show them just how things used to be and how they still can be if they chose because after all, who wants to live with Daddy Warbucks anyways?



                                                                    Kazz 💋