There’s these aromas that scream specific repetitive occurences from my youth. Sunday afternoon lunches or dinners either at home or at one of my cousin’s places. Mom, Aunt Margaret and Aunt Susan. They are the culprits.And of course Dad, Uncle Joe and Susan’s husband, John. I don’t know why I started thinking about these things, perhaps it has something to do with one of the photographs I have in one of my Facebook folders that depicts such a lunch or dinner from 1968.
So many times. So many of these last hurrahs of the weekend before the new work week began filled my youth. The last drops of red table wine (Chianti) in a wine glass, cigarette smoke, freshly pressed and ironed white shirts with a hint of each of the previous aromas or odors, Aqua Net, Old Spice, some girly perfume or cologne, one sip of beer left in a beer can, perhaps some trace of brandy or scotch / whiskey left in a shot glass and of course, the food. Sunday afternoon lunches or dinners consisted of such things as soup (chicken or beef) as a starter, cucumber salad, parsley potatoes (or rice), breaded pork cutlet, Hungarian chicken Paprikash or beef or pork Porkolt (stew), rib roast, or sometimes stuffed cabbage with ham and Hungarian sausage or stuffed peppers. Yum, yum and yum, is all I can say.
Sunday afternoon lunches after church or later in the evening, sometimes occurring on Saturday night, too, during weekends. Children accompanying our parents to the relative’s homes to visit; too old for play dates and too young for real dates, so the families got together. Board games, Hot Wheels, Barbies (for the girls), watching Bonanza, Lawrence Welk or some other television show, eating drinking, ice cream or popsicles for later. When we went to my Aunt Margaret’s and Uncle Joe’s, donuts from Mr. Donut on Clark street. Sometimes there was Hungarian music playing, sometimes a Perry Como album. These were the sounds, aromas, odors, foods and activities I, as an adult, look back upon and reminisce about fondly today.
For the parents, activities were limited. Reminiscing about their youth in the old country, singing and then crying – if they were feeling particularly sentimental, sometimes dancing and of course, playing cards. Not American cards. European cards. Schnapzer. That was the name of the game or Zsirt bele. These were their games of choice. The slamming of the cards on the table revealing winning or losing hands, the arguing “You should have lead with Zold or Mak!” (Green or acorns.) I had the red 7!” The celebrations when the girls won (“Yata teena teena nay”). Such good fun they had. Such drama! We, as children, running out to stand next to the card table as tall – standing next to our parents – as they were seated. “What happened?,” we’d ask. The forbidden Hungarian words they’d use to curse sometimes. Us, again, snickering a room away, “Oh, that was a bad Hungarian word!”
Bygone days of yesteryear where Mom would either make the call or receive the call. “Mitt csinaltok delutan vagy ma este? (What are you doing this afternoon or tonight?) Semmit. Jol van. Jojjetek att vagy mi att jovunk. (Nothing? Good! Come over or we’ll drop by)” Oh, the excitement! We’re getting in the car to drive to the cousins or, they’re coming over soon! Sunday afternoons drawing out the weekend a wee bit more pushing the work week a little further back filled with aromas, sights, sounds, tastes (FOOD!) and tremendous joy!
Did you have this in your family? Do you have these gatherings now? Still? To this day? If not, do you miss them, because I sure do?! Were they fun? Especially when I look back at that one particular photograph. . .
MJC
01-16-12
Monday, 7am
Have a great week, all!
This is your 882nd post.
