At the inclusion of the memorial service for my dad, we invited everyone to join us for Sunday dinner, which was one of my dad’s favorite traditions. My sister and her family - who lived in my hometown - went to my parents for supper every Sunday. I’ve long been gone from my hometown, but I joined my share of Sunday dinners when I visited. When I first moved far away from home, I missed dinners with my family.
My home has a similar Sunday tradition, though I call it supper, a nod to my time spent in Tennessee. On Sundays, I usually make a dessert to go with the meal. As it happens, though Sunday is often a fancier meal, I serve supper most nights of the week. We eat in the dining room or, if the weather is warm, on the back deck. Even when I am the only diner, I take care to make myself a meal and set the table. It’s a habit I picked up from my parents and it’s one that I value. I find eating in front of the TV appalling. Making and serving a homemade meal is how I show people that I love and care for them. My ability to put a homemade meal on the table is one of the things I like best about myself. It’s a bit old-fashioned, I guess, but I think that family meals are important. I probably would have made a great farmer’s wife….and the irony of that statement is not lost on me.
The older I get the more I think about the traditions and the habits that are the backbone of my daily life. I think about their origins and their value to me. I appreciate and value them as they deserve.
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