That photo is --pardon me--was my mother-in-law Dorothy. My husband, Dave, myself, and most of the rest of her family gathered in North Dakota last weekend to say our last goodbyes.
She was a great lady. She was a veteran of WWII. She was an active member of the VFW playing taps at more than 950 funerals. She was an avid tennis player until her illness last spring. She was active in civic groups and her church choir. She was married to a traveling salesman who was mostly home only on the weekends and raised three boys during the 1960s and 70s. The first time I met her, only four years ago, I talked to her about my husband’s stories of the mischief the boys got into growing up.
“You are slated for sainthood just for having three boys in five years and raising them to adults!” I exclaimed.
She just laughed.
Most of the time Dave and I spent traveling to and from North Dakota we talked about Dorothy. The majority of his memories involved food. It seemed Dave was channeling Garrison Keillor as he told me about tomatoes in the back yard garden, fresh raspberries and cream for breakfast at the lake cabin in Canada, Lutheran church lutefisk dinners, and his cousin’s infamous holiday salads of green Jell-O, crushed pineapple, and cottage cheese.
Then Dave went into great detail about his school lunches. He set the scene by explaining that his grade school was four long blocks from his house and did not have a cafeteria. Only the severest of North Dakota winter weather would keep him and his brothers from going home for lunch. I imagine those boys arriving in Dorothy’s kitchen with cold red noses, snowy galoshes, and growling tummies. There they would find hot bowls of Campbell’s soup and sandwiches. I can hear the ‘umm..umm…good’ jingle now.
“Mom let us choose our own soup before we left for school. Tomato soup with Velveeta cheese on grilled white Sweetheart bread was a favorite. There was always chicken noodle and ‘wimpy’ cream of mushroom but I liked the more exotic flavors like chicken gumbo, bean with bacon, and cream of celery. Sometimes we would have Dinty Moore beef stew or Mary Kitchen corned beef hash.” Dave explained. Dave also tells me homemade chili, hot tuna salad in hot dog buns called ‘sea dogs’, and a ‘hotdish’ called Tuna Rice Jumble consisting of instant rice, canned tuna, green olives (little brother Tom picked them out), and cream of mushroom soup were also on the winter lunch menu.
“We all loved PBJ sandwiches”, he continued. “It had to be white Sweetheart bread with Skippy creamy peanut butter, Welch’s grape Jelly in jars that had Howdy Doody, The Flintstones, or The Archies on them, and big glasses of milk.”
She was a great lady. She was a veteran of WWII. She was an active member of the VFW playing taps at more than 950 funerals. She was an avid tennis player until her illness last spring. She was active in civic groups and her church choir. She was married to a traveling salesman who was mostly home only on the weekends and raised three boys during the 1960s and 70s. The first time I met her, only four years ago, I talked to her about my husband’s stories of the mischief the boys got into growing up.
“You are slated for sainthood just for having three boys in five years and raising them to adults!” I exclaimed.
She just laughed.
Most of the time Dave and I spent traveling to and from North Dakota we talked about Dorothy. The majority of his memories involved food. It seemed Dave was channeling Garrison Keillor as he told me about tomatoes in the back yard garden, fresh raspberries and cream for breakfast at the lake cabin in Canada, Lutheran church lutefisk dinners, and his cousin’s infamous holiday salads of green Jell-O, crushed pineapple, and cottage cheese.
Then Dave went into great detail about his school lunches. He set the scene by explaining that his grade school was four long blocks from his house and did not have a cafeteria. Only the severest of North Dakota winter weather would keep him and his brothers from going home for lunch. I imagine those boys arriving in Dorothy’s kitchen with cold red noses, snowy galoshes, and growling tummies. There they would find hot bowls of Campbell’s soup and sandwiches. I can hear the ‘umm..umm…good’ jingle now.
“Mom let us choose our own soup before we left for school. Tomato soup with Velveeta cheese on grilled white Sweetheart bread was a favorite. There was always chicken noodle and ‘wimpy’ cream of mushroom but I liked the more exotic flavors like chicken gumbo, bean with bacon, and cream of celery. Sometimes we would have Dinty Moore beef stew or Mary Kitchen corned beef hash.” Dave explained. Dave also tells me homemade chili, hot tuna salad in hot dog buns called ‘sea dogs’, and a ‘hotdish’ called Tuna Rice Jumble consisting of instant rice, canned tuna, green olives (little brother Tom picked them out), and cream of mushroom soup were also on the winter lunch menu.
“We all loved PBJ sandwiches”, he continued. “It had to be white Sweetheart bread with Skippy creamy peanut butter, Welch’s grape Jelly in jars that had Howdy Doody, The Flintstones, or The Archies on them, and big glasses of milk.”
Here they are with their PBJs in Dorothy’s 1954 Ford Station wagon one warm early spring day.
Here they are almost 50 years later on July 4.
My first dinner at Dorothy’s dining room table was as the new girlfriend of her confirmed bachelor son. She welcomed me with open arms and pronounced me “a keeper”. My last dinner at Dorothy’s dining room table was last Monday evening as her boys and their extended families gathered to share a meal lovingly prepared by her friends in a local civic sorority. The menu was chicken noodle hotdish, coleslaw, ambrosia salad with marshmallows, cookies, cake, and coffee. The rest of the evening was spent laughing and crying as each family member shared their memories around that table.
Somehow food not only nurtures our bodies and soothes our psyches but it is the pivot point around which the milestones of our lives revolve.
Thanks for the memories Dorothy.
My first dinner at Dorothy’s dining room table was as the new girlfriend of her confirmed bachelor son. She welcomed me with open arms and pronounced me “a keeper”. My last dinner at Dorothy’s dining room table was last Monday evening as her boys and their extended families gathered to share a meal lovingly prepared by her friends in a local civic sorority. The menu was chicken noodle hotdish, coleslaw, ambrosia salad with marshmallows, cookies, cake, and coffee. The rest of the evening was spent laughing and crying as each family member shared their memories around that table.
Somehow food not only nurtures our bodies and soothes our psyches but it is the pivot point around which the milestones of our lives revolve.
Thanks for the memories Dorothy.
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