Tuesday, December 03, 2013
During the holiday season, I often find myself visiting, in my memory, with loved ones lost.
I had a remarkable childhood, as I came to understand more fully while writing the family history for my grandchildren.
My childhood home was way out in the country. While I was ages 12 to 18, I attended school in the nearest town, and the school bus dropped me at our gate around 4:45 each afternoon. In Wyoming, where I spent my early years, the winter temperatures often stayed below freezing all day. It was dark before I got home.
With my boots crunching in the snow, I trudged up the long drive to the brightly-lit house. Mother would be in the kitchen, and the tea kettle would be whistling. She would pour us each a cup of tea, using her little strainer to catch the leaves. She would put some bread-and-butter or a few cookies on a plate. We would sit in front of the fireplace in the living room and sip and discuss our activities of the day. I learned very young, that I had better have something more interesting than, "Nothing" to report about my day at school!
How precious those few daily moments were! The closeness of two ladies with our tea.
Then I would delve into my school work, and Mother would start cooking dinner. My brother would come in from the barn and Daddy would return from his job at the railroad. We would be just another busy family with our evening duties.
I'm alone now, living in the Sunny Southwest where I seldom see snow or a freezing day.
I order fancy teas from the internet, and rarely eat cookies. Still, I always sit down in the late afternoon with a cup of tea.
Mother, I dedicate this mug to you!