this morning i was making breakfast for the family. that part isn’t new. the fact that i was down there by myself for as long as i was…totally an unusual occurrence. i’ve spoken before of the bug’s tendency to wake up talking. informing actually. it seems that he has so many facts in his head that they are forcibly shared do to lack of room. my only contention is when the sharing occurs before ample coffee, which is most mornings.
this morning’s solitude afforded my mind time to wander. as i made us all oatmeal, cherries in stubs’, goose’s, and mine, none in the bug’s (he doesn’t do dried fruit. his words not mine.) i pictured my grandparents’ breakfast room. it sort of looked like the little house on the prairie first floor….only glammed up.
there were shelves across all of the windows. these shelves were filled with beautiful class vessels of varying size and color. i loved the purple and blues, the way the sun came through them and cast rainbows across the room. there was a door that led out to a covered patio whose brick path led to my secret garden. against one wall was a nook which at one time may have been a hearth. the wood was red and the floor was a dark maple. there was this tiny little table whose top was made of porcelain. this was where the toaster lived. i guess in case grandaddy (a huge man at 6’2″) wanted another piece. i never saw grandmommy do it, but every morning when we came down to breakfast the table would be set. there would be bread by the toaster with a couple of flavors of jelly (she liked orange marmalade, yuck), juice, milk, and sometimes grapefruit. she would tell us to go to the pantry to choose out cereal. i always picked frootloops, brew like applejacks. we weren’t allowed “junk” cereal at our house, so this offering always felt like a little slice of heaven. i didn’t even mind that the frootloops always scratched the roof of my little mouth. grandmommy always seemed such a lady to me. such a warm caregiver. i know now that this was the way she showed us that she loved us, as words weren’t her strength. i think i learned from grandmommy to accept the way people can love you. not all of us can say it. not everyone feels comfortable with someone in an embrace. for grandmommy it was a magically set table and an offer of our favorite cereal. it still feels like a hug to me all these years later.
so this morning, i stood back from the set table, in my solace. i looked over the cups of coffee and juice and bowls of oatmeal most with fruit but one without, and i thought of her. i found myself wondering if when my kids have families of there own they will remember our breakfasts together.
i know i will.