Sunday Dinner

Mandy loved Sunday’s. That’s the day the family got together. This was the one day in which traditional gender roles were accepted. The women in the kitchen and the men in the living room. The house was full of love,  laughter and stories. Mandy’s grandmother was the best storyteller. Every Sunday she would tell the story of how she and Mandy’s grandfather met. Everyone knew the story by heart, but it was still funny. And every Sunday someone would inevitable goad her into telling the story and every Sunday she would stop stirring or cutting whatever she was preparing and look coyly up as if she really had to think about it. Then she would smile and say,”Ah, ya’ll don’t want to hear this tired ole story again.”

The kitchen would grumble with ‘please grandma’ and ‘come on momma’. She’d look around the room at all of us anxiously awaiting the story and finally say, “He threw a rock at me.”

“That brute!” Aunt Clara would say.

Grandma would continue after a little chuckle. “He reached down to pick up another and was about to wind it up when pow I got him right between the eyes with the original projectile.” Mandy never understood why her grandmother used the word projectile, but it somehow added to the story. Maybe it was the way she said it, with emphasis on the ‘ject’. When she got to that point the laughing was pretty boisterous and would entice the men from the living room and grandpa would be the last to enter the kitchen. He would announce his presence by belting out, “don’t believe a word she says,” which was followed by a goose on the bottom and grandma would feign embarrassment and say, ‘George’ in her most innocent voice.

Mandy loved to watch her grandparents. They had this subtle way of communicating that she didn’t understand. If her grandmother looked at her grandfather a certain way he would smile and shuffle away and come back with the desired item and the same thing with her grandfather. Mandy often wondered how in the world does a look convey, I want a glass of water? Or turn the heat up and down. Everyone told her that it’s because they were married for so long, over 50 years, and you just instinctively know what the other wants; but they’ve been that way as long as she can remember. When she was a child she imagined they were aliens and they had some telekinetic powers which allowed them to communicate without talking.

She had high hopes that someday her young marriage would blossom into what her grandparents, her parents and aunts and uncles have.

First of all thanks for reading and second this story is not finished. I stalled on it, but wanted to get it posted. Hopefully, I’ll get it going again sooner than later. If you’ve got any ideas about how to move it forward please feel free to let me know.


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One response to “Sunday Dinner”

  1. Deborah says :

    I’m glad to have discovered your blog. 🙂


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