The feel of fall has nudged me towards nostalgia, stirring sentiment for the Saturday traditions of my childhood.
Football, yes. Food. A wood-burning fireplace.
And Saturday morning cartoons.
The Smurfs (La-la-la-la-la-la), He-Man and the Masters of the Universe, (By the Power of Greyskull!) and Transformers (More than Meets the Eye!) were among the lineup. My brothers and I watched from our living room floor, wearing our pajamas, and eating sugary cereal on tin lap trays that folded over our legs and featured our favorite characters. My tray pictured Strawberry Shortcake.
The sound of the vacuum cleaner running through the hallway was a given on Saturdays, and sometimes the smell of Comet from the bathroom tub. Mom wore sweat clothes and no makeup as she dusted, scrubbed, and mopped.
Daddy worked a lot of Saturdays. On his rare days off he would golf, then come home to watch Alabama Crimson Tide football. He would raise the living room windows, sit on the floor in front of his recliner and, while the TV was on, listen to the radio so he could hear Eli Gold’s play-by-play. The neighbors could hear through our open windows how well (or not) the Tide was playing by my daddy’s commentary.
Mom cooked, despite cleaning all day, though Saturday dinner was usually a one-pot meal: bacon goulash in the electric skillet or hobo dinners (hamburger, potatoes, carrots and onions wrapped in foil) on a sheet pan in the oven. While we ate, we watched Hee Haw or WWF wrestling.
My hair was long, past my waist. Mom washed it on Saturday nights so that it was clean for church on Sunday. I would beg her to let it dry naturally while I sat in front of our wood-burning fireplace in the living room. I was cozy there. I still remember my favorite fleece nightgown, white with thin, pastel stripes and matching slipper socks that stretched up to my knees. (My hair never did dry enough in front of the fire and inevitably mom would sit me on the bathroom counter and use the hair dryer.)
I didn’t expect as a child in the 1980s that these routines would resonate in my adult life. My parents didn’t realize it, but they were creating a legacy. So are you.
A fellow Hope*Writer shared this idea on her blog in August. Rebecca Meeks writes,
“With intention, we are building a heritage that will make a difference for future generations.”
I invite you to read her entire “The Legacy Maker’s Manifesto” and consider the ways the rhythm of your life is impacting your home. What routines, rhythms and traditions remain with you?
Saturday life evolved as we got older and, of course, when we moved to college. One of my favorite parts of the letters my daddy mailed to me when I was in college are the details of his and mom’s daily life. I found a few with postmarks dated September and October 1996 and 1997:
“I am going golfing tomorrow… I done some work on our house and (Uncle) Donald also… Your mother wants a closet organizer in our closet. I have bought one but she doesn’t know about it yet. When I get time I will put it up.”
“I hope to have this old dead tree cut down before ya’ll get back home. I have got to go to bed so I can go to work.”
“… Sunday we found an entertainment center at Mazer Furniture… I went today and pick it up and it looks really good…”
I bet it looked good while he sat on the floor watching Alabama football and listening to Eli Gold.
I felt a little like my mom this weekend as I dusted and scrubbed on Saturday. Abby Kate bounced between TV and Toys. Lily enjoyed a friend’s birthday party. When I picked her up she said “I had fun but I’m ready to go home.”
Like my childhood Saturdays, ours now are simple. Television. Easy meals. And now, the feel of fall.
Life was good when I was a little girl.
It’s good now, too.
“Every good and perfect gift is from above..”
(James 1:17)
