They arrive about once a week, always unannounced, yet always expected.  
 
And although they come from the same place, they’re never the same.  One glance sends most of them to the circular file, but there are a few that earn a spot on the coffee table—at least for a few days.
 
I’m talking catalogs.  
 
Specifically, the hard copy, snail mail kind.  Maybe it’s because I’m from The Olden Days (as my daughter calls my generation), or maybe it’s because I know my brain processes things better when I can hold something in my hands.  Whatever the reason, I actually enjoy perusing these paper catalogs way more than seeing the same stuff online.  
 
I was surprised to learn that the first mail-order catalog in the United States was published by Tiffany’s, in 1845.  But definitely the most popular and most far reaching in the latter part of that century—and for many decades to come—was the Sears and Roebuck catalog, which offered not only trousers and sewing machines and bicycles and corsets, but for a time, prefabricated houses and automobiles.  Known as The Wish Book, it was once an astounding 1,500 pages; offered 100,000 products, and reached some 20 million Americans—at a time when our population was 100 million. (Learn lots more about this mailer to beat all mailers, at  www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dyx4WzcND14.)   
 
Given that I came into this world just a little bit later, the first catalog I pined for was the Speigel catalog (www.spiegel.com/catalog).  
 
That’s probably because every TV game show I watched as a little girl gave out gift certificates from this Chicago-based company, which specialized in fine women’s apparel.  And since I’d learned all about the wonders of Speigel from a magic box, it somehow seemed that its clothes must be the chicest and most sophisticated ever made, sprinkled with a dash of enchantment that wasn’t available anywhere else.    
 
(Of course, this was long before I actually had the good fortune to work in television.  This turned out to be as satisfying as any job I’ve ever had, but it was never magical. Indeed, when I finally got a Speigel catalog in my hands, I was stunned at how shoddy the products looked.)     
 
As a young adult, my next love was The Vermont Country Store (www.vermontcountrystore.com).   
 
One word describes its brand: nostalgia.  Flip through its pages, then order the candy and lotions and other sundries you remembered as a child, as well as the sturdy jumpers and practical bathrobes your grandmother might have worn. 
 
Once, I saw (and bought) coffee syrup to stir into my cold milk.  It was yummy, and because this was pre-Internet, not available anywhere except New Hampshire (or so the mailer said).  The Christmastime edition is always extra fun, advertising dense fruitcakes, chenille slippers and a dazzling array of holiday themed flannel sheet sets.  
 
Then, in the years I was longing for a baby, and for a time after I brought my girl home, I couldn’t wait to get my
Lillian Vernon catalog (www.lillianvernon.com). I especially loved Lilly’s World, which still features brightly colored sleeping bags, lunch boxes and backpacks, all of which scream the need for personalized monograms. I had a Lillian school bus themed coat holder on my bedroom door (naturally, with my name on it), and when my daughter was very small, a friend ordered a set of personalized wooden blocks for her, which I think I enjoyed more than she did.  
 
But by far, my favorite catalog is Hammacher Schlemmer (www.hammacher.com). 
 
Maybe it’s because the name is funny, or maybe it’s because it’s mentioned in “Goodbye to All That,” arguably the most famous essay by Joan Didion.  Or it might be because radio superstar Fred Allen sang “Hammacher Schlemmer, I Love You,” on Broadway in the 1929 staging ofThe Little Show (check out a recent audio clip here, at www.youtube.com/watch?v=Olc_VzqXIV0).
 
As it turns out, the Hammacher mailer has been around for nearly 170 years, which makes it the oldest surviving catalog in America. 
 
Once marketed to electricians, builders and mechanics—in 1916, every piece of hardware it sold was purchased by the Russian government—Hammacher now offers unexpected products for those who don’t know what to do with all of the extra money they have lying around. 
 
So, it’s here that the yacht and polo set can find The 55 Language Translating Scanner (every item description begins with “the”); The Movable Feast Cooler Cart, and at only $40,000, The Three Dimensional Labyrinth Orb.  I doubt I’ll ever order anything from this New York City company, but its imaginative—and sometimes pretty crazy—items are always fun to peruse.
 
I’m not looking forward to what will probably happen to all of these catalogs I so love.
 
Yup, I expect that sooner than later, these terrific mailers will no longer be personally delivered by my mailman.

​As The Olden Days group passes on, going paperless will no doubt save a lot of trees, and will absolutely appeal to customers my daughter’s age.
 
But that doesn’t mean I won’t miss them… and the memories they’ve brought with them.   
 
What’s your favorite catalog, and why?  I look forward to your comments and stories!     

​Sunday dinner is a Very Big Deal around here. 
 
And if you don’t mind some UGA—Unsolicited Good Advice—you should feel the same. 
 
First, since this end of the week day isn’t usually a workday, it’s always nice if the meal is a bit more special than Monday through Friday fare.  Given that The Hubster is Midwest born and raised, I’m lucky in that he’s not into fancy-schmancy entrees. So, there’s often a slow cooked roast with gravy, along with a fresh veggie on the side.  Sometimes I’ll add what used to be called the starch portion—potatoes, rice or pasta.    
 
It’s not surprising that I love these dinners because I enjoy cooking them, and even more, eating them.
 
But that’s not really why I do it.
 
I do it because what’s on our plates doesn’t really matter.
 
Way more essential is the tradition itself—the consistency, and positive consequences, of a communal dining experience with those we love.    
 
These days, of course, that picture doesn’t look anything like Leave it to Beaver or the Saturday Evening Post magazine covers that Norman Rockwell painted.  But who cares?
 
Whatever one’s definition of family is, it’s the time to put away all electronic devices; sit down at the table as a united, we’ve-got-your-back unit, and discuss the past week and the upcoming one.  Heck, it may even be the place to bring up future dreams, hopes and desires.  
 
I recently asked about Sunday traditions on one of those what-our-childhoods-were-like Facebook groups that I belong to, and in fact, coming together played a big part. 
 
Lots of fellow baby boomers remembered going to church in the morning and then eating out at the same restaurant every week. Another wrote fondly of parents inviting the family pastor and his wife over, with a lavish spread of comfort food fit for a king.  
 
“Mama would fix pot roast, bake a ham and fried chicken,” she wrote. “Then there would be mashed potatoes and gravy; sweet potatoes and green beans, and candied carrots.  For dessert, my daddy’s favorite, a chocolate cake, and for us kids, coconut and banana cream pies. I guess Mama was afraid someone would get up from the table hungry.”
 
As it turns out, these feel good memories are way more than that. 
 
In fact, according to a 2015 Washington Post article by Anne Fishel, co-founder of The Family Dinner Project (http://thefamilydinnerproject.org/), breaking bread together is one of the very best things parents can do for their children.  
 
For wee kidlets, Fishel says that dinnertime conversations actually boost their vocabulary by leaps and bounds.  In fact, these children picked up an average of 1,000 rare words around the table, compared to just 143 from mom or dad reading books out loud.  Teens also benefit from regular family meals: Fishel adds that those who eat together at least three times per week are twice as likely to score A’s in school as those who don’t. 
 
And because most families no longer farm together; play musical instruments on the porch, or host quilting bees, American teens also say the most likely place to talk to their parents today is at dinnertime.  As a result, these same adolescents are likely to have less stress, and better communication, with their mothers and fathers.
 
Coming together can also be enormously satisfying even after the kids leave home. 
 
One friend with a 20something daughter told me that she has decided to return to the Sunday magic she knew as a child. 
 
“Now in the time of texts, emails and Facetime, I want to sit across the table from my daughter and listen to her tell me about her week,” she says. 
 
“I want to be able to see her smile, or even hear about her frustrations or heartbreak, or whatever her week has dished up,” she explains.  “What I don’t want is to read her week in a text message.  In five or 10 years, will people even interact at all anymore?”
 
As for me, I feel exactly the same way. 
 
That’s why I want to make sure that our Very Big Deal meal stays around for a very long time.   
 
How about you?  I look forward to your thoughts and stories—and maybe recipes—involving Sunday dinners, past
and present! 
 
P.S. No idea about what to fix this weekend?  Here’s an easy peasy spinach lasagna. Add a simple salad and
​loaf of crusty French bread, and you’re ready to gather around the table. 
 
1 lb. whole grain or regular lasagna noodles, boil until soft and pliable.
3-4 bunches of fresh chopped spinach, steam just 2-3 minutes, drain. (But not too soft, so you can still spread
out the leaves)
16 ounce can of tomato sauce
2 cups full fat ricotta cheese
2 cups freshly grated full fat mozzarella
 
Spread a thin layer of tomato sauce on the bottom of a large glass casserole dish. 
Cover sauce with a layer of noodles, add half of the ricotta, then half of the spinach.
Then add one third of the remaining sauce and one third of the mozzarella.
Lay down another layer of noodles, the remainder of the ricotta, the remainder of the spinach, another one third of sauce and another one third of the mozzarella.
Finally, lay out the rest of the noodles, the rest of the sauce, and on the very top, the rest of the mozzarella. 
Bake uncovered at preheated 350 degrees for 40 minutes.