When is too much, too much?

The first time I ate in a cafeteria without one of my siblings or my mother supervising my choices was in the employee cafeteria at the Woodward and Lothrop Department Store in Washington, D.C., on F Street. My sister Kathryn, a recent graduate of Georgetown University's Home Economics Department was the "boss" of the cafeteria. One Saturday she had invited my sister Ellen and me to come eat our lunch there before some other activity later in the day.

I was about 8 years old so Kathryn thought she was wise to ask one of her favorite employees to escort me through the line. She did not take into her thoughts the instincts of this southern Mammy type employee mixed with her wide-eyed little sister. At every station Mrs. Jones asked me if I didn't want some of a certain dish, Of course I said "yes" Therefore my tray became loaded with some things I would never have eaten anywhere. I don't know yet if Kathryn had to pay for all those choices or if we were guests of the department store. I still remember my glee when I showed Kathryn "my" choices, Most of my choices went in the trash because it was just "too much."

My Christmas presents were small things from each sibling and one bigger thing from Santa Claus. I could almost name them for each year. They were mostly dolls, but there was a pair of roller skates one year, a grown-up suitcase another, and finally my own bicycle. My gifts from other relatives were scarves. Two aunts went together to give both Ellen and me one large hardbound "story book." I still have the book and several of the dolls.

I look at my great-grandchildren and their friends. When we visit later in the day and ask them about their gifts, they no longer have that sense of enthusiasm that Grandma X gave this to me. In fact they often do not even remember who gave many of the toys.

In spite of all the worrying and financial problems in buying gifts for my own children, I find out in adulthood that what they remember the most clearly are the disappointments in what they didn't get, or what they got that didn't even look at all like the picture in Sears Wish Book.

When my sister Ellen died we were invited to come look at furniture unwanted by any of her children to see if we could use some of it. Really I didn't see anything we really needed EXCEPT the furniture had belonged to our Aunt Lyle before her death. I didn't want it to go to anyone outside the family so we brought it home. Then we had to find a place for it that made it look like it was a valued piece of furniture. We made space and made it fit-in. However the room where it had been looks rather windblown until we find places for all the stuff that used to be on or around a similar piece of furniture. Actually we don't need the extra pieces, but I have many good memories while using it.

I can remember neighbors in every town we lived in, who planted about twice the garden that was needed for their extended family. The minister's family profited from this of course, but it worried us that we had eaten all of the green beans we could stand for a while, but we kept on thanking the neighbor for the gift.

Of course we could can a few jars from what they gave us, but that didn't fit in with our schedule at that time, So, what do we do? We give it to another neighbor who doesn't have a garden. Hopefully if they aren't home they will think it came from our donor also. Which it really was.

Think about the common saying that speaks to this situation: "It never rains, but it pours."