November 03 '07
Volume 596


Tradition Continues Mom's Birthday Dinner

Tradition Key HoldersMy family, in case you didn’t already know, is big on tradition. And, once a tradition is established, we tend to observe it forevermore. Some of our traditions we inherited from our parents, but some came into being after Barbara and I married.

Consider mealtime. Traditionally, I sit at the head of the dining room table with Barbara on my immediate right. When our extended family is present, Felicia claims the seat to my immediate left. The breakfast table, which is round, seats four. My place, as viewed from the sink area, is on the right, and Barbara sits to my left. When we have family gatherings, I’m among the last to be served, but seldom do I find "my seat" taken when I get there.

My sister started a new tradition for our family a few years ago when she moved from Ecru to Pontotoc. She asked that we observe Thanksgiving at her house, and she prepares most of our Thanksgiving dinner meal. In the past, mealtime has been shortly after noon and usually prior to one o’clock. This year, Felicia, whose husband’s family counts Thanksgiving as a must-attend family gathering in Oxford, has asked we postpone our traditional mealtime until evening. That’s not likely to happen, but it’s for Sarah to decide, not me.

The opening of gifts at Christmastime varies widely among different families with even Santa gifts sometimes opened on Christmas Eve. In my childhood, Christmas presents could not be opened until Christmas Day. I don’t remember that bothering me, and I can’t recall pressuring my folks to let me open a present or two early. Barbara’s family allowed one gift to be opened on Christmas Eve, but when our children came along, we held to the tradition passed down on my side of the family.

My mother, Frances Crausby Carter, started a tradition of her own, but none of her children remember when it was first observed. To appreciate Mom’s tradition, one needs to know something of the times in which it came about. Though my dad worked for Kroger and later owned a grocery store, meat on the dinner table was not common, unless one considers canned meat as meat. Spam, Vienna sausages, tuna, chili, and corned beef hash were consumed occasionally, but if we had chicken, it was most often reserved for noon on Sunday, and it was usually fried.

A few times each year, Mom made a batch of chicken and dressing (cornbread dressing). Traditionally, Mom prepared chicken and dressing twice a year, Thanksgiving and Christmas, and though my sister disputes me, I remember Mom having chicken and dressing on some Easter Sundays. There may have been other times during the year that Mom served chicken and dressing but with one exception, it didn’t happen often. That exception was Mom’s birthday, which fell near the end of October.

As I mentioned earlier, we don’t know when Mom’s birthday dinner tradition began, as likely it happened so gradually that no one took note of it. In fact, after her children were grown, we rarely celebrated her birthday on the anniversary of her date of birth. Instead, she picked the Sunday closest to her birthday, so that her children could be at home.

Other than at Christmas, I don’t recall Mom getting presents from Dad or her children, so perhaps cooking chicken and dressing on her birthday was a present to herself. One thing is certain, Mom classified chicken and dressing as "cold weather food." I don’t know if her reasoning had to do with cooking in a hot kitchen in the summertime or that she thought the meal tasted better in the winter months. Perhaps, it was a comfort food prepared by her mother who may also have reserved it for cold weather.

Late October in the Deep South hardly qualifies as cold weather, but Mom considered it cold enough to prepare what, today, we might call one of her signature dishes. Before she died, we, her children, came to view her birthday dinner as her way of ushering in the Holiday Season. A holiday meal such as Thanksgiving or Christmas came to be rather predictable. Chicken and dressing would be the entrée. The trimmings included creamed potatoes, candied sweet potatoes or a sweet potato casserole, English peas (canned), and cranberry sauce, also canned. Sometimes an English pea or green bean casserole might also be on the table. Depending on the occasion, desserts varied and could include both pies and cakes. However, if Mom had plenty of sweet potatoes, a sweet potato pie was almost a certainty.

Mom died of cancer two days before her 71st birthday in 1989, but had she been well, she would have been preparing for her special dinner rather than preparing for the hereafter. That year, Barbara decided she would continue the tradition established by her mother-in-law, and we celebrated Mom’s birthday in the usual manner, except for the sadness of our recent loss. That Barbara accepted the mantle of continuing a tradition is appropriate for she had Mom teach her how to make a decent batch of cornbread dressing several years before Mom died.

In many ways, I find it remarkable that we have continued Mom’s birthday tradition for the nineteen birthdays following her death. Sure, we enjoy the food and fellowship and our reflections on the life of Frances Carter, but one would think that at least one of those 19 years would have been interrupted by some sort of tragedy. Thankfully, that’s not been the case.

This year, on Sunday, October 28th, Barbara and I had the privilege of eating Mom’s traditional birthday dinner with nine other family members. Jason made it back from his trip to Alabama just as we gathered for the blessing. Rayanne, Anson, Merilese, and Katherine came from Belmont. Cullen and Felicia drove over from Oxford. Anna and Sarah each drove less than a mile

While Mom’s basic menu for the dinner hasn’t changed, a few items show up each year to remind me that traditions, yes even family traditions, are subject to the ever-changing likes and dislikes of family members. Believe it or not, we have two family members who don’t particularly care for chicken and dressing, so Rayanne prepared a dish of poppy-seed chicken without the poppy seeds.

Mom’s grandchildren and great grandchildren are the key holders of our family’s traditions, and while I doubt these will perpetuate our observance of Mom’s special day, chances are good that other of our family traditions will be celebrated by future generations. If not, the loss will be theirs, and an important part of their heritage will have been erased by the passage of time. At the least, I expect new traditions will emerge from the ranks of my descendants.


Fork Mystery Where Have They Gone

The 1960’s were rich with the sounds not only of Rock ‘n Roll but of Folk Music, as well. Rock ‘n Roll was birthed in the mid-fifties, but Folk Music had been around for centuries. However, Folk Music experienced a revival of sorts during the sixties.

Folk was the popular music of the Hippie generation and of the protestors of the Vietnam Conflict. The revival of Folk Music with its harmony and gentle, stringed instruments offered a pleasant alternative to the pulsating beat of early Rock. Also, Folk Music, generally speaking, told a story that one could often relate to and easily memorize.

One such tune, Where Have All The Flowers Gone, a Pete Seeger song, was popularized by the Peter, Paul & Mary trio. The song expressed the cyclic nature of love, life, and war. In its condensed form, the song is composed of a series of questions and answers: Where have all the flowers gone? Young girls have picked them everyone. Oh, when will they ever learn?

Where have all the young girls gone? Gone for husbands everyone. Oh, when will they ever learn?
Where have all the husbands gone? Gone for soldiers everyone. Oh, when will they ever learn?
Where have all the soldiers gone? Gone to graveyards, everyone. Oh, when will they ever learn?
Where have all the graveyards gone? Gone to flowers, everyone. Oh, when will they ever learn?
Where have all the flowers gone? Young girls have picked them everyone. Oh, when will they ever learn?

The somber truth of the tale is that we humans fail to learn from our mistakes, those of others, or those of nations, and we are bound to repeat the mistakes of those who have gone before us.

In a less dramatic sense, I’m dealing with an unexplainable loss.

Had Jesus ever encountered this concern, he might have stated, "In my house are many forks. I go to prepare a place for you, so that where I am there ye may be also. However, of my many forks, some are missing."

To which Thomas would have complained, "We knowest not wither thou goest. How can we know the way? But hey, we don’t know nothing ‘bout no missing forks."

Had Pete Seeger been in my shoes, his flower song would have been titled, "Where Have All Of My Forks Gone."

There’s enough flatware in my house to outfit at least three families. Our oldest set of flatware is stainless, which we use for everyday. A newer set, service for eight, is also stainless, but it is heavier and is used whenever we have company, as the place settings are still complete. Our newest is a silver-plated service for twelve that I chose as a gift from SUPERVALU for thirty-five years of service. It’s used for special occasions or when we’re trying to impress someone. Come to think of it, the heavier set, previously mentioned, was also a service premium for thirty years of service.

It’s the everyday set that puzzles me. I know that in our modern age, appliances are more our enemies than our friends. After all, don’t automatic washing machines eat socks? Yet, I’m not blaming our dishwasher for our missing forks. Somehow, I don’t believe there are any forks in the bowels of the dishwasher.

Now, it could be my forks have turned into spoons, because a quick count of spoons tallied 13 and a more thorough search revealed we have fourteen spoons, all of the same pattern and manufacturer. Oddly, there are four dinner knives, five dessert forks, five dinner forks, and eight soup spoons. Assuming the original set of flatware was service for eight, there are six missing forks and six extra spoons, which of itself is kind of scary.

Sure, there’s a possibility that a couple of missing forks could be in our guest house, because our son has been known to fix a plate of food at our house and eat it at his house. However, the last time any of us helped him tidy up the place, none of the missing flatware was found.

I can’t believe the plate-washers and pot-scrubbers at my house are so careless that flatware items were tossed into the trash, but I suppose anything is possible. Believe it or not there’s a spoon that belongs to the mystery set lying on the floor beneath a kitchen cabinet. I dropped it one night, and it bounced over the toe-board and disappeared beneath the cabinet.


Bodock Beau It Was No Accident

An insurance agent was talking to a farmer, trying to sell him a life insurance policy.

"Have you ever met with an accident?" asked the insurance agent.

"No," replied the farmer, "but a mule kicked me in the ribs once, and a rattlesnake bit me on the leg."

"Good grief!" exclaimed the agent. "Don't you consider those accidents?"

"Naw," said the farmer. "They done it on purpose."

Share this article with a friend.


get this gear!

Home

Copyright © 2000 - 2004 RRN Online.