To Get Their Monies Worth

I have mentioned this earlier. During the 1971-72 school year I lived with my grandparents in my hometown of Sikeston, Missouri. 

My grandparents were very frugal people. They both lived through the Great Depression and they held modest positions of employment. My grandfather was a shipping and receiving clerk at Malone & Hyde and my grandmother was sales clerk at F.W. Woolworth's. They were both hard working people and they understood and appreciated the value of the things they had.

They lived in a small four room house on Matthews Avenue, just three houses down from the corner of Matthews and Pine. I spent my Freshman year at the high school just across Pine Street. I loved this house. The two bedrooms connected to a central bathroom, and if all the doors were open, you could make a complete circle in the house. As a child I could ride my small beginner bicycle inside the house. You couldn’t do that just anywhere or in any house. No, my grandparents house was special.

It was heated by a gas heating stove. There was a mat of sorts in front of the stove. During the times of year when the laundry could not be hung out to dry, a wooden drying rack would stand in front of the stove and things would be dried there. It was also a good place to stand if you needed warming up. A water kettle sat on the top of the stove letting out a light vapor to help keep the air moist. 

The house also had those special aromas that most of us can associate with our grandparents houses. For me, the most memorable aroma is mothballs. In the back bedroom, tucked into a corner, was my grandmothers “quilt box.” It was really a large cardboard box that was probably used to deliver the stove or washer, but calling it a “quilt box” just makes it sound better. But, this box stood in the corner and contained all the quilts, blankets and extra pillows that my grandparents had. And, of course, to be sure that these things are not attacked while being stored, you toss in a few mothballs to ward off any would-be attackers. Looking back to when I was kid, the “quilt box” was a favorite place for hiding during a rousing game of Hide ‘n’ Go Seek with the cousins. It wasn’t a very good place since we all used it, but it was still a favorite. 

The backyard was almost entirely given over to gardening. And when there was no longer enough room to hold all that my grandfather wanted to plant, he made an agreement to use a plot not far from the house. The backyard was used for tomatoes, squash, zucchini, pole beans and other things. The potatoes and corn that once grew there were now grown in the borrowed plot. My grandfather did most of the growing and my grandmother did most of the canning. There was a small area in their enclosed back porch where all the canned vegetables, stewed tomatoes, jellies and apple butter were kept. The potatoes were laid out on old newspaper and sprinkled with lime.

They worked hard, they lived simply, and they taught me a great deal during that year.

There is an old gospel song that had a line in it about going to church twice on Sunday and once in the middle of the week. A Calvinistic point of view to be sure, but that was life in my grandparents house. Once the morning service was finished we’d come home to a wonderful Sunday lunch. Occasionally we’d go out. One Sunday we went to the other side of town to a restaurant called Two Tony’s Smorgasbord. 

Two Tony’s was an all-you-can-eat buffet affair. I don’t remember exactly how much it cost (I found an article from 1976 that gave the price as $3.55) but I knew that however much it was, it was more than my grandparents would normally spend. All-you-can-eat affairs are like that. Having this knowledge I was determined that my grandparents were going to get their monies worth and I became a frequent visitor to the buffet line.

Bad mistake!

Overeating is something that I am no stranger to. I wish were. But I remember that Sunday in Sikeston being notable. I was way beyond full. I was miserable. Getting to the car, into the car, home, out of the car, into the house and onto the sofa were all very uncomfortable. Extremely taxing events. Add to that, I knew that being back in church that evening was a mere three to four hours away. We were all going to drive up to Scott City and visit relatives that afternoon but my grandparents gave me leave to not make that trip. I think they just really didn’t want to put up with the moans that would have come from the backseat and leaving me laid out on the sofa was the better choice. A better choice for them and for me. So they went on their way and I remained deathly still in the living room.

The afternoon passed and they returned from their visit. Eventually I was able to move about. They had a light meal before we all went back to church that evening. I may have had a glass of iced tea. Nothing more. 

Home from the Sunday evening service, they probably settled in for a little television; my grandfather sitting in his chair smoking his pipe and my grandmother in her rocker reading or crocheting. I would have gone back to my bedroom to make sure all my homework was done and probably listened to Three Dog Night on the record player. In time I would go to bed and fall asleep. But on this night I would have fallen asleep knowing that, as far as my grandparents were concerned, that today I did my part to get their monies worth.