Growing up, almost every Sunday began with shouting chaos getting ready for church. My family of six would pile into my mom's minivan, or sometimes we'd take two cars if one group had to go early, or a group was running late. After an hour of calm, holy, Episcopal Eucharist, the chaos started back up as we raced home to tear off our church clothes. We'd gather around the kitchen table for lunch, usually made of random mix-match meals, every condiment on the table, trying to clean out the fridge and eat up any of the week's leftovers. The highlight though, was every Sunday in the late afternoon, my dad would light up the grill & turn on the CD player. Barry White's smooth melodies set the tone as thyme & rosemary chicken sizzled on the grill. Dad would drink a cold Miller Light & I'd pour a myself a glass of raspberry ginger-ale. My siblings, our friends, and our dear yellow lab Obie would walk back & forth from the house to the back deck to join Dad, as he reminded us to close the door, that he couldn't afford to air-condition the entire neighborhood. It was a perfect way to end the weekend, and look forward to the week ahead.
When I listen to Barry White now, as part of my love for the whole genre of Soul & Motown music, his music stands apart, as it is accompanied by such sweet memories of Sunday afternoons.
that sounds just like my family, (sub john conlee or fleetwood mac for barry white) right down to the meal. we called it garbage disposal lunch. i really liked this post. thanks!
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