This thread has brought back a ton of great memories. On dads side,his parents, they were immigrants from Italy. They signed their names and were vetted at Ellis Island. Yep, their names are in the book. On moms side, her great, great grand parents came from Scotland in the early 1700's and landed in Tennessee and eventually moved to Texas in the 1800's. As a side note....on moms side, we have a family cemetery in Irene Texas, near Hillsborough that is listed with the Texas Historical Society and one of my kin folk is on it because he was wounded at the battle oh Shiloh fighting for the south and is buried here.
But....growing up we would go to grannies farm in Irene on 1 Sunday for chickens and dumplings. The next Sunday was at mamas for spaghetti and meat balls. we alternated every other Sunday between Grannies and Mamas. On Grannies Sunday she would go the chicken yard, grab one, wring it's neck and pluck it for our Sunday meal. We would go the the chicken coop and gather eggs, go along the fence and grab peanuts, chase the goats and play in the hay loft. Lucky by this time there was an inside toilet and inside running water. The well was still there with the rope and bucket and some of the nastiest water you would ever,try, to drink.
On Mamas Sunday we would get a small taste of Pam-paws home made wine, help, or try to, make the spaghetti and meat balls, Italian bread, home made sauce, sit in the apple tree and eat apples, gather pecans and suck on persimmon seeds.
One Sunday in the country, next Sunday in the city. This went on until I was around 8 years old and the old people began dying off.
This may sound strange, but with my ex-wives, Sundays, looking back and remembering, were the best and worst memories of those relationships. It seems that some of our best times were on Sunday mornings, and some of the worst all out fights were on Sundays. Crazy, huh?