From Where I Sit

By Pat Spilseth, Columnist

Fall is the season kids get back to school, adults clean the yard, put on the storm windows (for those of us with older homes), start baking and cooking fall meals like casseroles and stews, winterize and store the boat and take out the dock. We become industrious again after a lazy summer of play. Wasn’t it great to relax and do fun things like boating, swimming and trips to state parks and visiting friends and relatives who live a vacation trip away.

This weekend we got the pontoon into our son’s Bayside Marina for winterizing and storage. Dave’s putting on the storm windows, turning on the fireplace to warm up the chilly nights and I even gave in and turned on the furnace to warm up the freezing mornings.

Do you think that life was simpler when women had distinct duties for each day of the week? We knew what had to be done and the inbred schedule suggested the right day to tackle each job. The formula was embroidered on dishtowels and printed in church cookbooks. We didn’t have to think about what to do.

Yesteryear’s formula: Monday was wash day; Tuesday was ironing; Wednesday was sewing; and Thursday was market day. Friday was cleaning and Saturday’s chore was baking. Sunday was a Day of Rest. Thanks to column reader Karen for this information. Today it’s different. 

Today many women have overwhelming schedules! Often it’s necessary to have two working parents to pay the bills  for childcare, car payments, mortgages, etc. Women’s lives are so stretched that often times they don’t have time or energy to participate in activities like those wonderful church bazaars and dinners we used to enjoy. Besides that, few of us can roll lefse as thin as our moms did. Baked goods like rosettes, lefse, spritz cookies and divinity candy were always the big draw at church dinners.

Today it’s a real gift to find one of those bountiful church suppers with Swedish meatballs and gravy, mashed potatoes and desserts filling an entire table! There aren’t enough people to staff these suppers any more as many are too busy with work outside the home, shopping for the week’s groceries and driving kids to sports, music lessons and meetings. Life has gotten so busy!

Some days I long for that formula of duties from the fifties. The Day of Rest on Sundays is what I miss the most. Most grocery stores and retail establishments were closed on Sundays in my childhood years of the fifties. People who worked all week were ready to take a day off. They could sleep in, go to the lake or hunt and fish…relaxing activities filled with pleasure. These activities happened after morning church services, obviously. It was noticed if a certain someone wasn’t in attendance Sunday morning.

As a kid, I was bored on Sundays. Most kids felt that way; we searched for something interesting to do that was “restful.” We couldn’t play cards, go to the movies, but kids could roller skate, bike, or play ball. I remember lots of No’s on Sunday, but I didn’t understand the reasoning of what was work and what wasn’t. Of course moms had to make the meals and do the dishes or we would starve! Now why was it always her duty to cook even on Sunday?

I’d love it when we piled into Dad’s blue Hudson or his turquoise and white Chevy with the chrome fins with the big fenders and drove off to visit with friends. One of my favorite houses to visit was Aunt Sadie’s and Grandma DeKok’s house in Brooten. All the cousins were there Sunday afternoon after they’d attended church. We’d sing at the upright piano in the living room with Cousin Doris playing the ivory keys. Later, the garage sale dolls with the missing arms or eyes would entertain me on the porch. The boys had plenty of trucks and balls to play with that Aunt Sadie had purchased for pennies at garage sales, her favorite haunt. 

Some Sundays we’d drive to Cousin Emery’s family, who lived on a farm with rolling hills outside Starbuck. Clever with his hands, he built a speedy snow sled with old skis one winter. The skis didn’t sink in big drifts of fluffy snow; they glided smoothly over the snow and streaked down the hill with Emery Jr. and me riding on top. Our colorful hand-knit stocking hats and scarves, made of scrap wool, would fly behind us as our voices laughed and screamed with delight up and down the hills.

Sundays always meant dress up for early church, then a big Sunday dinner served on the good china in the rarely used dining room. Some Sundays when Dad felt a bit flush with extra cash, he would drive our family to Lowry to the Dahl Café, which featured crispy fried chicken dinners with mounds of mashed potatoes and gravy that swam over the entire plate. Sitting in the booth, I’d slide my green peas surreptitiously onto the floor. I hated peas and rice back in those days, but I ate the entire portion of corn kernels. Naturally, the cafes featured an assortment of homemade baked goodies for dessert in a revolving glass case. Picking dessert was my favorite part of the dinner.

The regularity of life in the fifties and sixties was rather pleasant for many folks. Even today I seem to operate more efficiently when I have a weekly plan. I do the laundry on Monday; clean on Friday; and bake on Saturday. Mrs. Excitement, I may not be, but life is good as I relax each evening on the porch over the lake listening to the loons calling to me.

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To contact Pat, email: pat.spilseth@gmail.com.