One of the great traditions in the McGhie household was the Sunday dinner. Whether we had guests or not, Sunday dinner was a ritual that brought our family close together. Most of the Sunday dinners over the years had the same menu or some variation of it: Roast, mashed potatoes, corn from Grandpa Charlie's garden, jello, often some other vegetable and rolls with homemade freezer jam. When we got home from church Dad would cut the roast with an electric knife. The dog would get the scraps and I think it was Rambo or Zeke who would whine and howl when he heard the electric knife, knowing that the meat scraps were soon to follow.
If you called our house during dinner and asked for one of the kids, you might be subject to having the phone passed around to everyone at the table (except the person you wanted to speak to). Each member of the family or guest would say in order "Oh you wanted to talk to Lisa? Sorry, I will get her."
The dinner conversation usually revolved around telling and re-telling stories, jokes or generally having a good laugh. Here are a few samples:
Some guests are at our house for the first time. Dad asks Brent to pray. Brent gives him a puzzled look and says "pray?" Then as if he realizes something important Brent says "Oh yeah, we have guests over. OK, I'll pray."
Marty's girlfriend comes for Sunday dinner with her mom. Her mom asks innocently "Why do they call you 'Mirv'?" Before anyone can respond, Jeff quickly says "Mirv the Perv!"
Grandpa Mac devouring the last of the year's freezer jam spoonfull after spoonfull. From then on anyone who put too generous a portion of jam on his roll was called "Grandpa Mac".
Would-be spouses were not ready to join the family until they had survived a few Sunday dinners. The first Sunday dinner for a girlfriend or boyfriend was a special event, the test of all tests. Younger siblings would get excited about the prospects of an older brother bringing a girlfriend home for the first time, like a professional athlete mentally prepares for a big game.
So next time you are at a McGhie Sunday dinner you can appreciate the fact that you are continuing a long and rich tradition.
Sunday, November 06, 2011
Saturday, April 09, 2011
California Thanksgiving Trips
Growing up we took several trips to California to attend family reunions for Thanksgiving. The usual routine was for Dad to work all day while Mom got us ready for the trip. Mom would load the green motorohome and when Dad got home from work we would drive all night to California. The gears on the green motorhome had a tendency to grind when Dad shifted. This led to us yelling out hilarious phrases such as "If you can't find 'em, grind 'em" or "Grind me a pound while you are at it, Dad!". The humor of these phrases would usually wear off after a few hours, but that did not stop us from repeating them.
Dad would stay awake all night by eating a gallon can of Spanish peanuts. No Dr. Pepper or Diet Coke--just peanuts. The rest of us would find somewhere to sleep in the motorhome or would pass the time playing cards. Often we would travel in caravans with Foxes, Beuhners or other family so we might have a mix of kids in different vehicles.
The green motorhome was in itself a family icon. It was an old school bus that was converted into a motorhome. It was shaped like a school bus but painted green and white--suggesting several nicknames like "The Green Banana" or "The Worm." It had beds, cabinets and closets in the back, a toilet, shower and fridge area in the middle, and a dining area that converted into beds in the front. There was enough standing room by the drivers seat that a kid could stand next to Dad and talk to him while he drove or just look out the window.
On one trip, we had just packed the motorhome and set out. Dad drove up the street and turned around. As he did, the fridge door (which had not been locked with the locking chain) flew open and sent food flying out with glass breaking and mayo and jam splattering around. Two minutes into the trip and we already had our first mishap.
We would usually time our trip to stop in Las Vegas to take advantage of the all-you-can-eat buffet at the one of the casinos. As we traveled with other relatives, our horde of 20 or so hungry kids and adults descending on the buffets for a $4.99 dinner turned a few heads.
On one trip back at night the motorhome had technical difficulties and would break down frequently. Throughout the night as the kids slept Dad and Charlie Fox would work on the motorhome to get it running again after it quit. Then at about 3 am the fire extinguisher fell over and the pin came out, filling the air in the motorhome with fire retardant. The sleeping kids were hastily evacuated and packed into the other cars in the caravan.
The trips to California were usually to visit Uncle Theron and Aunt Eunice in Escondido (near San Diego). Thanksgiving dinner was held in the gym of their church. This involved lots of relatives--many whom we only saw once a year at family gatherings. At one of these gatherings we counted around 400 people, some of them almost certainly unrelated people who were driving by and saw there was a party. The younger cousins played basketball in the morning while the adults got the dinner ready. Feeding that many people a full Thanksgiving dinner itself was a massive affair. At some point during the trip we would usually make a pilgimage to Disneyland.
One of these trips was colored by our motorhome ramming into a small truck that pulled in front of Dad on the freeway and then hit the brakes. The truck was sandwiched between our motorhome and Beuhner's motorhome. The driver had no license, no registration and spoke no English. The police said they needed the name of everyone in each vehicle and where they were sitting. When they saw all of the kids pile out of the motorhomes, they re-thought their request and told us to drive on.
Good times in California!
Dad would stay awake all night by eating a gallon can of Spanish peanuts. No Dr. Pepper or Diet Coke--just peanuts. The rest of us would find somewhere to sleep in the motorhome or would pass the time playing cards. Often we would travel in caravans with Foxes, Beuhners or other family so we might have a mix of kids in different vehicles.
The green motorhome was in itself a family icon. It was an old school bus that was converted into a motorhome. It was shaped like a school bus but painted green and white--suggesting several nicknames like "The Green Banana" or "The Worm." It had beds, cabinets and closets in the back, a toilet, shower and fridge area in the middle, and a dining area that converted into beds in the front. There was enough standing room by the drivers seat that a kid could stand next to Dad and talk to him while he drove or just look out the window.
On one trip, we had just packed the motorhome and set out. Dad drove up the street and turned around. As he did, the fridge door (which had not been locked with the locking chain) flew open and sent food flying out with glass breaking and mayo and jam splattering around. Two minutes into the trip and we already had our first mishap.
We would usually time our trip to stop in Las Vegas to take advantage of the all-you-can-eat buffet at the one of the casinos. As we traveled with other relatives, our horde of 20 or so hungry kids and adults descending on the buffets for a $4.99 dinner turned a few heads.
On one trip back at night the motorhome had technical difficulties and would break down frequently. Throughout the night as the kids slept Dad and Charlie Fox would work on the motorhome to get it running again after it quit. Then at about 3 am the fire extinguisher fell over and the pin came out, filling the air in the motorhome with fire retardant. The sleeping kids were hastily evacuated and packed into the other cars in the caravan.
The trips to California were usually to visit Uncle Theron and Aunt Eunice in Escondido (near San Diego). Thanksgiving dinner was held in the gym of their church. This involved lots of relatives--many whom we only saw once a year at family gatherings. At one of these gatherings we counted around 400 people, some of them almost certainly unrelated people who were driving by and saw there was a party. The younger cousins played basketball in the morning while the adults got the dinner ready. Feeding that many people a full Thanksgiving dinner itself was a massive affair. At some point during the trip we would usually make a pilgimage to Disneyland.
One of these trips was colored by our motorhome ramming into a small truck that pulled in front of Dad on the freeway and then hit the brakes. The truck was sandwiched between our motorhome and Beuhner's motorhome. The driver had no license, no registration and spoke no English. The police said they needed the name of everyone in each vehicle and where they were sitting. When they saw all of the kids pile out of the motorhomes, they re-thought their request and told us to drive on.
Good times in California!
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Photos of Reno
I couldn't figure out how to attach a photo to my comments on Waldo's dog post, so I'll just have to do it this way... here are a couple of photos of our black lab Reno. -Brent
Friday, February 18, 2011
A Man's Best Friend
I wanted to dedicate this post to dogs that we grew up with.
The first dog I remember is Gyp (short for Gypsie). My only memories of Gyp are being terrified of him. Also I remember hearing lots of stories about Gyp growing up, but I will let those who experienced them first hand share those stories.
Tarver was an Irish Setter who could jump on his hind legs on the trampoline while holding a person's hands with his front paws. Cocoa was a German Shorthair who I believe is credited with helping Gyp to eat the deer that Andy Fox shot and left at our house to be butchered. I don't remember much else about them. Reno was a black lab who disappeared when we were on vacation. We used to sleep outside on the trampoline and at night he would jump up onto the trampoline and find you in the dark. Because he was pitch-black, it was hard to see him until he was right in your face.
Zeke was a Golden Labrador. When we went duck hunting to Farmington Bay, he turned out to be such a lousy retriever that the boys left him out in the bay. Dad had to trudge back into the swamp and find the dog to take him home. He ended up nearly killing Healy's dog and we had to get rid of him. We gave him to the school bus driver who took him to his house in Lehi in the back of his truck. Zeke memorized the way and the next morning we found him on the front porch. He had run home from Lehi. We ended up giving him to an ironworker friend of Dad's in Goshen and had to drive him there in the motorhome so he couldn't memorize the road.
Rambo was a Golden Lab/Retriever mix. He had an intense hatred for the UPS man and would crouch in the grass when he heard the UPS truck going by and then charge the poor guy when he got out of the truck. Our UPS deliveries slowed to a trickle for some time only to be resumed after Rambo died. Rambo used to jump up on the window sill and look in the living room window to watch TV with us. When Dad started cutting the roast on Sunday with an electric knife, Rambo would whine and howl in anticipation, knowing he was getting the scraps.
One of our best dog stories came from a stray labrador that followed me home from school. No one told Dad when he came home from work that we had taken on a stray dog. He woke up early in the morning to drive to Delta for work. It was still dark when he strode across the lawn on the brisk summer morning. The dog ran across the lawn silently and greeted Dad by sticking his cold wet nose between Dad's legs. The greeting nearly launched Dad across the street. Needless to say, we had a stern talking to when he returned from work.
If anyone has any other stories or pictures of our dogs, please feel free to add.
The first dog I remember is Gyp (short for Gypsie). My only memories of Gyp are being terrified of him. Also I remember hearing lots of stories about Gyp growing up, but I will let those who experienced them first hand share those stories.
Tarver was an Irish Setter who could jump on his hind legs on the trampoline while holding a person's hands with his front paws. Cocoa was a German Shorthair who I believe is credited with helping Gyp to eat the deer that Andy Fox shot and left at our house to be butchered. I don't remember much else about them. Reno was a black lab who disappeared when we were on vacation. We used to sleep outside on the trampoline and at night he would jump up onto the trampoline and find you in the dark. Because he was pitch-black, it was hard to see him until he was right in your face.
Zeke was a Golden Labrador. When we went duck hunting to Farmington Bay, he turned out to be such a lousy retriever that the boys left him out in the bay. Dad had to trudge back into the swamp and find the dog to take him home. He ended up nearly killing Healy's dog and we had to get rid of him. We gave him to the school bus driver who took him to his house in Lehi in the back of his truck. Zeke memorized the way and the next morning we found him on the front porch. He had run home from Lehi. We ended up giving him to an ironworker friend of Dad's in Goshen and had to drive him there in the motorhome so he couldn't memorize the road.
Rambo was a Golden Lab/Retriever mix. He had an intense hatred for the UPS man and would crouch in the grass when he heard the UPS truck going by and then charge the poor guy when he got out of the truck. Our UPS deliveries slowed to a trickle for some time only to be resumed after Rambo died. Rambo used to jump up on the window sill and look in the living room window to watch TV with us. When Dad started cutting the roast on Sunday with an electric knife, Rambo would whine and howl in anticipation, knowing he was getting the scraps.
One of our best dog stories came from a stray labrador that followed me home from school. No one told Dad when he came home from work that we had taken on a stray dog. He woke up early in the morning to drive to Delta for work. It was still dark when he strode across the lawn on the brisk summer morning. The dog ran across the lawn silently and greeted Dad by sticking his cold wet nose between Dad's legs. The greeting nearly launched Dad across the street. Needless to say, we had a stern talking to when he returned from work.
If anyone has any other stories or pictures of our dogs, please feel free to add.
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