Dinner Redux

Once we got a television, it didn’t take long for my family to acquire the de rigueur TV trays. My sister and I were in heaven when we could spread open the hollow metal poles, place the black patterned tray—much prone to rust—into the recess and await a formerly frozen meal. The irony of this now is almost too much to bear. I believe my mother rationed these evenings carefully because they didn’t fit with her vision of what a mother should do.

The thrill of my parents’ social life was transfered to us in the form of Swanson Chicken Pot Pies or the full-blown Swanson “dinner.”

As I remember it, the dessert was always a mushy form of apple crisp. The vegetable was always diced carrots and peas and the main part was usually a drumstick surrounded by never enough mashed potatoes. I preferred the potpies with the buttery crust which was probably pure lard. But that was until something happened.

One night, happily ensconced in front of the TV and the TV trays with our babysitter Janice Hing, a Swanson Chicken Pie in front, I bit into what still remains-almost- the worst thing to venture into my gullet. It was a bumpy slab of chicken skin covered in the thin sauce of the pie. When I pulled it out of my mouth, I could feel each bump. From that day forward, I insisted that my mother buy me the Swanson Beef Pie.

I have written of our Sunday dinners, but my favorite meal of the week was Sunday night. My sister and I would bathe and dress in our Lenz flannel nightgowns, make our packed lunch—wrapping carefully in the wax paper. Then my family would adjourn to the living room and watch a series of programs that for me meant joy, adventure and love.

With a bowl of Campbell’s Cream of Tomato soup in front of us—placed carefully on the TV tray—we first watched Lassie. Then came Disney’s Wonderful World of Color. And, as we grew a bit older and could stay up later, Bonanza. Occasionally Rawhide would slip into the mix.

I think I loved those Sunday nights more than any huge meal my mother made. It was cozy and comfortable and we all cuddled on the overly nubbly fabric of the couch. To make the Sunday night exquisite would be a long distant phone call from my mother’s best friend in Seattle.