Had a birthday last week. Getting close to a big round number. Got me thinking.

About how much easier things are today and at the same time how much less sweet.

I remember how housewives used to have days of the week for certain chores. Monday laundry, Tuesday ironing, Wednesday grocery shopping.

In Wailuku, Maui, in the 1950s, there were no grocery stores. Grandma and I would go to the butcher and to the fish shop on Market Street and to a dry goods store to get everything we needed. Ooka's Supermarket opened when I was a child, to great celebration. A supermarket! In Wailuku! Progress! We're moving up in the world!

In those days, the lady of the house made a list every week, planned meals for each night's dinner and portioned out leftovers for lunches. Cooking was kind of a strategic planning exercise. Home economics.

Today, it seems, we have no idea what we're going to eat from one hour to the next, we buy most of our food prepared, we're clueless as to what we're having for lunch, let alone dinner. So different.

At one time, though, the cook of the house had to think things through. Everything was made from scratch, so it took some time. Do I want beef stew on Wednesday? I need to buy beef, potatoes, onions, carrots on Tuesday. The stew needs some time to develop its flavor. I'll start it in the morning while I do laundry or work in the garden. Or maybe I'll make it a day in advance.

I have so much respect for those women, who were not just cooks but managers. My grandmother got a very modest "allowance" from my grandfather with which she had to feed the household and from which she held back a few pennies each week so she could buy Christmas presents at the end of the year. She kept her "savings" in a Santa sock in the closet.

It apparently never occurred to her to ask for more money until it became absolutely impossible to stay within her budget. She sheepishly asked for more and Grandpa said, basically: "No problem, and how come you didn't ask me before?"

Where am I going with this? I've been noodling on this column the better part of a morning and I guess the answer is, I'm feeling the flow of years and I wanted to reflect a bit on how different things are now. I can make a wonderful dinner for my husband by opening a Bertolli bag, slicing some vegetables and microwaving some rice. To make the same meal, my grandmother and mother would have had to work twice as hard. Of course, Grandma wouldn't have had to spend the day in the office, either. To feed the family was part of her job description. She seemed to do it effortlessly.

My mom, a career woman, had a bit more of a struggle, but that's where I came in: I learned to cook because she needed help. She'd leave me a menu and a detailed note on what I was to do when I got home from school and then finally I just got tired of being told what do do (never my best thing) and started creating my own menus, working out of this old Betty Crocker cookbook.

My dad liked my cooking. I liked having people like my cooking.

The rest is history.

Send recipe requests, and answers to queries, to Wanda Adams, Food Editor, The Honolulu Advertiser, P.O. Box 3110, Honolulu, HI 96802; fax, 525-8055.