So Much More than Sandwiches
Musician Warren Zevon reminded us on the Late Show with David Letterman to “enjoy every sandwich and every minute.” It was a profound quote for something so generic and everyday like a sandwich. I admit, I may have taken a few for granted in my life, and I am especially seeing that now, as I sit in my house during the COVID-19 Pandemic. I remember when being surrounded by family was the norm, and I didn’t know to savor those times or those sandwiches of my youth.
One of the most indelible family memories was our annual Fall weekend to an Ohio State Park called Pymatuning. I understand now that it was a family reunion, though we saw everyone in my mom’s family at least twice a month anyways. My mother has five siblings, giving us 14 cousins who joined us in renting cabins for a weekend every year. Even when we couldn’t reserve cabins in the famed cul-de-sac of Pymatuning, we still called it Pymatuning Weekend, and it has been a tradition for more than 35 years. Some years, we were at other state parks, but while the place could change, the basic structure did not, and the only real structure was around meals. I think that’s most likely the truth of life in general: Most memories are centered around a table, when a group of people, no matter how many, slow down long enough to share a common experience vital to living in so many ways. We nourish ourselves and our souls with a community of people and food prepared by those we love. Pymatuning Weekend meant time tromping outside with space and woods and dirt, and time crammed tightly into a small cabin not meant to hold 30 people at once.
Fridays, when people were arriving and pulling up in their weighted-down vehicles full of cousins, bikes and groceries, we did a potluck of all kinds of party food, crockpot delicacies, and casseroles. Saturday mornings, we would tour every cabin for different breakfast cereals, bites of bacon, a pancake here and a muffin there. It was one big shared table every meal, no matter what cabin you happened upon in that cul-de-sac. And Saturday night was the big meal, a roast or a clambake, and we would sit on those chilly porches, huddled together on painted picnic tables. But it was Sunday that I remember as the most consistent and grand. Sunday was always bittersweet and we would try to squeeze the most out of that last day. We took a family picture, set up outside one cabin, everyone stacked on a table, or perched on one of the porches. And then we went to Grandma’s cabin, which always had the most impressive spread of deli meats and cheeses I’ve ever seen. Small charcuteries had nothing on my grandma’s selection of sandwich fixings. Rows of plastic bags and delicate tissue paper, loaves of bread, an array of mustards, mayo, ketchup, and pickles. And the crisp lettuce was always iceberg, and it was always cold. You could make as many sandwiches as you wanted, you could stay in the warm cabin, or take one to go to get a couple more laps around on your bike. As my mom said of the sandwich meal, “It was our swan song of the weekend.”
The place and the players have changed over the years for Pymatuning Weekend. I confess, I have not been back since 2011, and our family has seen many milestones since, both sad and joyful. Those days of simplicity, sandwiches, and togetherness seem long ago as I sit at my computer screen, composing a tribute to those meals, those crisp Fall weekends, and most importantly, those people. The truth is, that I miss them all dearly, and I know that weekends like that are few and far between in my life now. But I know one thing: I am always reminded of those times when I see lunchmeat in clear plastic bags lined with opaque deli paper and printed stickers. And I remember to savor every sandwich, and live every moment.
By Kate Ott
Kate lives in Colorado with her son and husband. She teaches French in a public high school. She loves the creative process, the written word, and spending time in nature.