Diana, the Dishes, and the Party Line

SUNDAYS—

By the time Mom had me, she was pretty set in her ways and always made fried chicken every Sunday. The chickens were always fresh. I think they came from our chicken house because I remember plucking out the feathers. Daddy made plucking the feathers easier by dipping them in hot water after he chopped off their heads. The smell of wet feathers was horrid. (I remember Ruth Reichenberg, a neighbor, chasing a headless chicken around her yard—the most crazy thing you’ve ever seen. The chicken was running wildly around the yard with its head cut off. We were scared to death it was going to run into us. It was possible, since the chicken didn’t know where it was going. Funny, this was all so natural to us then, would we do it now? I don’t think so. Nevertheless, Mom’s fried chicken was the best. First Mom would shake the cut up chicken parts with flour and salt and pepper, then she would brown the chicken in a black cast-iron skillet. Next, she put it all in the big blue roaster and threw it in the oven. Mom served the chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade rolls, fresh corn on the cob and sliced tomatoes from the garden. There was always a homemade cake or a pie, made totally from scratch, for dessert. When Carol got old enough, she was in charge of making the desserts. Amazingly, there was always enough food for everyone, but Mom was no short order cook. We all ate the same thing at the same time, or we went without. We had our own places at the table, and we were hungry so we were always at the table and ready to eat on time. Not one of us was a skimpy eater. How could we be with Mom’s excellent cooking? Alice Atchison shared her memory of the days before measuring cups and temperature thermometers. To measure ingredients for the homemade cakes or desserts she either had to judge the measurement, or the ingredients were measured with a coffee cup. Alice remembers reading old cookbooks that gave the measurements by coffee cups. To gauge the temperature of the oven, the only means Alice had was to stick her hand in the oven, as there were no temperature controls on the old stoves. Was this true for Mom as well? I remember Mom being very specific about measuring ingredients exactly right (except for her pie dough.) Of course, someone had to do the dishes, and I’ll give you a hint. It was never Dad or the boys. Dishes were strictly a woman’s domain. Mom never had to wash dishes. She had five girls to do them. Well, four girls to do the dishes because my sister, Diana, never, never washed or dried one dish. Diana was too busy either: 1. She was on the phone with friends or, 2. She was in the bathroom reading a book or, 3. She always had to get her homework done. Not one dish, ever! The first telephone we had was a three-way party line. A party line, back then, meant we shared a phone line with two other residents and they shared the same line with us. Three rings meant the call coming in was for us. When we wanted to call out, we had to make sure someone was not talking on the line. It wasn’t very nice but we could listen in on their conversations if we wanted. I wonder who we shared the line with, and I wonder what they could tell us about Diana, being she was on the phone most of the time. Remember Mom’s green parakeet, “Pretty Bird?” I remember when Mom did do the dishes that parakeet would sit on her shoulder and chirp to the clanking of the dishes. He would say his name over and over, “Pretty Bird, Pretty Bird.” Mom loved that bird. Then one day the front door was left wide-open and Pretty Bird flew away. The only other animal I remember we had was a big, white cat named Fluffy. He chased the mice so they couldn’t eat my sister Barb. Barb was terrified of the mice that lived in the attic. Barb and Diana could hear them running around at night while they were trying to go to sleep. Well, Barb was convinced they were going to climb into bed with her. I, personally, was more horrified by the little mouse turds we would find while looking through the boxes of hand-me-down clothes Mom stored in the attic.

MONDAYS—