Casseroles and Green Jell-O

I was born in 1951. Nobody had much money - so rather than spending their savings going to restaurants, my mom and dad and their friends got together for pot-luck dinners which generally consisted of various types of casseroles, and nearly always included some version of a green Jell-o mold salad. I can admit now that I never acquired a taste for green Jell-o -- especially green Jell-o with shredded carrots and pineapple mixed in. But, for some reason my mom and her friends loved it, and it often appeared on our Thanksgiving table. Since Thanksgiving is right around the corner, memories of this odd mixture of sweetness rush to mind.

Most of the women in my growing-up world didn't hold outside-of-the-home jobs, so my early education about what being a woman meant was almost exclusively based on a domestic perspective. My mom and her girlfriends would gather some afternoons to wash and set each other's hair, share recipes and coupons, watch their TV 'stories,' and commiserate about the difficulties of raising kids and keeping husbands happy on a shoe-string of a budget. I didn't realize it at the time - but these women were teaching me important life lessons. They were savvy about how to make their money last, creative about maximizing their resources, and understood that friends were an important support system.

Now I'm all grown up with kids and grandkids of my own. My parents, who live with us, are in their eighties. Many of my mom and dad's friends have since passed away; it's been years since they gathered for those social evenings, and even more years since my mom and her girlfriends fixed each other's hair. But we all have our memories, and I'm grateful we do. My life has provided me with a more nuanced perspective for what being a woman means, but I also fully appreciate what I learned by example, from my mom, dad and their friends. In essence, they taught me basic values, with a strong foundation in friendship. My folks and their friends helped each other during times of stress, and showed a knack for putting a fun spin on difficult situations. They took their hardships in stride, and were grateful to live in a country that gave them opportunities.

Though I don't currently have a lot of pot-luck dinners in my life, the memory of them is strong. When I see green Jell-o salads today, as rare as they are, I remember the solid foundation I was given as a child. Today's world is a much more difficult place than it was when I was born, but my folks had their share of challenges. I'm blessed that despite those challenges, they never lost sight of the important things in life, and made sure I didn't lose sight of them either. In deep gratitude and for all the amazing memories, I'll be serving green Jell-O-mold salad this Thanksgiving. Thanks mom and dad. I'm beginning to develop a taste.

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Comments

[dsol]

When I wanted a French chicken dish for my (first)wedding years ago my father asked about the jello molds. I said, categorically, that there would be none. When the caterers set out the weading feast there was Chicken Veronique AND jello molds. (After all, my father was paying.) Guess which got got cleaned out first? Today I use my mother-n-law's recipe: lemon and lime jello, cottage cheese, pineapple, mayo, and (the secret ingredient) horseradish! It's sickly green, tart, sweet, and refreshing. I'm on orders to provide it at every family gathering.

[CaveatMagnusFrater]

Perhaps it was a simpler time, but that only means it was a better time for those in power. Since then, women have been freed from the power of the husband. Also since then, minorities are less constrained by the prevailing race. Is the price of complexity and a couple generations of social turmoil worth ushering in a free society. I say yes.

[guajiro]

No Cheryl, it's a fact that as you get older you lose your taste buds. That accounts for the carrots and pineapple in an otherwise perfectly good green Jell-o. Science has shown us that the color green obfuscates the two to one ratio of bad food vs good food (As your mom so geniusly devised with two bad foods-carr­ots/pineap­ples, and one good food-Jell-o ratio) so that we can solve the oversupply of bad foods.

[ndem]

What I think is important about this article, which I can also relate to from my own family experiences, is that we have become a wasteful culture. We claim to be about family, to care about quality and resourcefulness, but some of that has disappeared in the U.S. Where have savings gone? Why do we spend so much on credit cards bying things we do not need? What ever happened to budgets we stick to? My grandparents (who loved jello), had their own garden, made and stuck to a monthly budget, and managed to save a good amount during their lifetimes, while living full lives, taking wonderful vacations, enjoing their retirement, all on what would be considered today as a small amount of money. They taught me to save, to put quality before quantity and to truly help others, all while enjoying simple (often free) pleaures this world has to offer. We should teach our children and grandchildren the same lessons if we want to see a strong America.

[zigzag1]

Yup, my Mom made a green salad that was green jello, crushed pineapple, maraschino cherries, and I think some mayo. she brought it to EVERY gathering until it was the family joke. Everyone would politely eat a little. Wish she was with us now, I'd never laugh about it again.

[mosh]

"Today's world is a much more difficult place than it was when I was born"

Actually, it was a lot more difficult for some of us even then, though the politics of those days does seem almost quaint.

But, take it from a contemporary who loves your memories as written, my own recollections don't include green jello molds, or any other foods, as happy events.

All this to say, I loved your post but don't forget that just because the 'good old days' were good for you means they were good for everyone else. The world never was, and never will be, as simple as some of us care to remember it.

That said, I love jello of any color or shape and the same goes for marshmellows, regardless of what happened in some distant memory.

I forgive you Mom (I think). But Dad - may you rot in hell -