After church the boys took off fishing while the girls and I stayed closer to home and played outside, worked on art projects and whiled-away the hours. I even got in a sacred hour of needlepoint. My goal is to finish the children’s Christmas stockings while they are still young enough to believe in Santa!
I must confess the day seemed like something out of a Laura Ingalls Wilder book. You know the scene; women folk sit around the hearth darning while the men venture into the wild to hunt and gather dinner. Only in this modern version, Ma and the girls were snuggled in front of a Sony watching Disney Channel movies while Pa and the Boy trotted up the road in an SUV to shoot pellet guns and to see if the bass were biting.
Under the influence of my bucolic daydream, I busied myself in the kitchen in eager anticipation of my boys return from the wilderness, er ranch. We gathered around the table tonight tired from a weekend well spent. I served a whole roasted chicken, fresh white corn on the cob, roasted in their husks drizzled with butter and salt, stewed okra & tomatoes and cornbread baked in my cast iron skillet. The children love corn on the cob and we use these nostalgic ear holders I used as a kid. The novelty that these yellow plastic corncobs were mine when I was a little girl never ceases to get a rise out of them.
My reverie of a little house on the prairie must have really gone to my head because somewhere between church, needlepoint, playing with the girls and husking corn, I baked up a sinful (for a Sunday anyway) apple-pecan cake. Spiked with allspice, cinnamon and, in my opinion a generous whop of Jack Daniels, the spongy cake was met with sheer delight by all of us. No doubt the babies will slumber well.
Tomorrow’s reality will hit hard. Travel schedules, preparations for the holiday weekend and a host of obligations will swoop in like a heavy rain in a mere few hours. The simple nature of this weekend will soon be gone but not forgotten. After all, we will always have Sunday supper.