Daily Grace

...The last two days of summer vacation...  where did it go?  It seems like just one blink ago, I had that goat on my front lawn, taking care of extra grass.  Sort of.  And now the nights are getting so chilly, the days growing shorter.  Back to school shopping reminds me of penny loafers and brand new boxes of 16 count crayons.  That was the biggest box you could get then.  We didn't carry backpacks to school in those days.  I imagine we carried our supplies in a brown paper bag.  We only lived a few blocks from school, so we walked on most days.  I do remember getting to ride the Town Bus once in awhile. I have vague memories of first grade and adoring my teacher.  I don't remember the walks home, but I do remember telling my very curious little sister everything about school when I got home.  She would watch for me at the back door and ask so many questions. Then we would settle in for an afterschool snack and watch Popeye on our old black and white television.  Dinner time was always six sharp.  Shortly before that we would be called to set the table, which meant pulling the table out from the wall and fighting about who set the plates and who set the middle.  Before long, dad would roll up the drive in his old pickup, come into the house all dusty from work and give our mom a quick kiss.  Then he would ask how his 'girlies' were before cleaning up for supper.  We each had our own mealtime prayers and mom would finish with the main grace.  I can still hear her soft voice as she prayed, head bowed.   I have been researching meal prayers for years trying to find the exact one she used, but have had little luck.  Meals were simple on most days.  Typical german meat and potatoes meals, with lots of pickles, veggies and fresh bread.  Most of the food was grown in our backyard or bought from neighboring farms.  I can remember going to pick corn.  We brought back bushel after bushel that mom froze.  There was nothing better than coming home after an afternoon of swimming to pluck a piece of corn out of the boiling kettle.  Salt and butter dripping off our chins, we would talk about our days.  That sunny little kitchen seemed to be the heart of our home.