My grandma wore a blue apron with white snowflakes in winter
Stopping all hands of time with the power of one word
“DINNER!”
The scent of herbs and spices and meats
The aroma of cherries in pies and peaches in cobblers
Have sent many a tummy rumbling
The food-laden table is renaissance worthy artistry
I and the rest of us really young ones jump up and down
Trying to get one small view of it all
Before it, like the holidays, was all-too-soon a thing of the past
The pre-teen me whines at my pitiful carving efforts
“Don’t worry; it will all turn out alright.”
Her soft cooing voice promises
Delft-blue veined hands
Which smelled either of Palmolive or Jergen’s
Deftly handle the paring knife with precision
Turning fruits and vegetables into edible blossoms
That will decorate the meals
Precision were her fingers
She wipes on her yellow-blossomed apron for spring
And I recalled the crucial fact
That she once studied to be a doctor
“This was not at all
What I planned for my life
Not the life I dreamt to live, but
The hugs from my grandchildren and
The love they bring
There’s nothing as delightful, dear”
She rocks in her chair under the huge oak
Children wandering all about
Chasing fireflies in the back yard
The air fragrant with the herbal of fresh-cut lawn
She smiles benignly looking on
At the latest family additions
And I know there was not a thing
That she regretted or would change
Folding the blueberry print summer apron in her lap
An unconscious signal she’s done for the evening
As time goes by
I’d listen with a most attentive ear
Because no one is interested in such mundane things
As sitting by a tree– but sit I would
First on her lap, then at her knee,
Then by her side, all the while thinking
A moment so still, will just mess up my mind
“Hush now sleep for twilight falls”
Is sung soft, soft as the arms that now rock my young
The same soft arms that once rocked me
Having no way of knowing my baby
Would be the last one held
Within the April Downy fresh scented ruffles
That trimmed her favorite red and gold autumn apron
And I’m forced into the reality
That despite her heavenly ways
She’s naught, but real flesh and blood and bone and feeling
And I am alone with my cravings
For the youthful girl with Swan’s Down cake flour on her nose
And a dab of grandma’s Chantilly behind the ear
Standing at her grandma’s elbow
Listening most attentively
You have been so gentle, so kind,
You gave me memories to last ever after
I can tell you, I feel a smile form on my face
As I am thankful for the time
I get to spend with family and friends
These precious moments though brief they may be
They are near and dear
And as the sands of life shall run
I am now much older and wiser
With my own grand ones standing at my elbow
Watching Brown Betty -well- brown, in the oven
The smell of apples and butter and cinnamon and brown sugar
Watering their young mouths
As I tie on my white winter apron with blue and silver snowflakes
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Abhra has given us Food for Thought as the prompt at dVerse. Normally I would create something new, and I may yet do so if time prevails, but I was immediately put to mind of this old write laden with food and heart and I had to post it.
Raivenne-lations 