Monday Mimisms ~ Coffee and Curtains

Do you suppose if I went around back and knocked on the kitchen door, she'd answer? I miss her. I need to talk to her.

The last time I saw her she was lying in a blue gown and her face was peaceful and still. She looked very much like a china doll.  I kissed her face and tried to remember the last thing I'd said to her. It wasn't enough. I knew that.  

A few years after my Papa died, she'd married again. The linens, the silverware, the china and bowls...all mixed in with someone's life she'd never known in a kitchen they shared when one left by death and the other entered in matrimony.  But that didn't matter to me. While I missed the kitchen she shared with us all those years in the tiny house on the tiny street in town, I knew her magic began when I sat down across from her. She would bring a cup of coffee. Even as a child she let me drink coffee. I wanted to be "grown up" and have grown up conversations. She somehow understood that and then hid the coffee cup when my parents came in.  That was our talk time. We didn't have enough of those days. Some of that was my fault.

There was a pantry behind the table in the corner. It was covered by a curtain, not a door or drawers. You had to draw back the curtain to reach for things you needed.  It was blue and white, much like the tablecloth here. I often wondered what she hid in there.

 

How did my mind go down that whistling road today?

Oh because I smell her chicken

and I see her apron

and I feel the tablecloth in my fingers

and .... most of all
because I miss her so

  The house is empty.  No one has lived there for years.  But one day soon, I'm going to travel back and peek in the window. She'll be there.

#blog4peace #blogblast4peace