It Happened on Sunday

15555806_1401641409860823_1204709379_n

Before Sunday Dinner

The sun is up at the rabbit patch, and the wind is brisk and has a chill.  The old house is as silent as it can be.  There isn’t a bit of news, other than Sunday dinner is cooking and the house smells like it.  The green glass and a clean tablecloth will soon transform the lowly kitchen table. I will gather flowers for a vase, shortly, as yesterday, I ended up scrubbing the kitchen cabinets.  After all, I was moving dishes around and the task seem to come about quite naturally, as they often do.

While Gathering Flowers

I went out to gather flowers for an arrangement, while the stove earned its’ keep.  I found the day true to what is expected in March, at the rabbit patch.  The air was pleasant with only a slight chill.  The air of March is like that.  The day was bright and the territory was dotted with all sorts of flowers.  The pear tree is blossoming along with two young peach trees.  The oldest peach tree bloomed last week and a few cold nights have burned the tender buds to an awful brown.  Wild hyacinths are blooming in their familiar places.  The wild variety is not as spectacular as their hybrid cousins, but they have the same wonderful, sweet scent.  The Japanese roses are breath-taking now.  When I walked around the barn, their bright yellow flowers almost startled me.  Truly the “rose” looks like a carnation.  The flowers bloom along the slender branches, before the leaves appear.  It looks like the flowers are floating and  the effect is very fairy-like.  I cut some branches for the vase, and then was off to the daffodils.  Of course, the spireas are a favorite.  Their blossoms look like tiny roses and the bushes are full of them.  Christopher Robin walked with me, and true to his good nature, did not complain a bit.  He laid briefly, on a bed of running periwinkle and that made a charming picture.

In the Afternoon

The green glass did make a pretty table.  The arrangement was pretty too and quite complimented the setting though it did not compare to Pansy and Ivy, in Elizabeth City. ( I declare that Mandy has Divine help in her arranging.)   Mama and daddy got to the rabbit patch just as I was putting the cheese biscuits on the table.  While we ate the creamed turnips, we remembered my grandmother.  When we got to the pie, daddy was telling stories about his childhood.  I grabbed my book and wrote them down in fragments, to be composed later into a story that makes good sense.  Today, Mama and Daddy talked about their memories of the Ice truck.  Mama said, that when the ice truck came, her mother made iced tea for supper, that night.  It was something she looked forward to,  as a child.  The truck came every two weeks.  Daddy remembered he and his brother running to catch up with the truck when they saw it.  They gathered the broken chips that fell as the blocks were broken apart.  

While, I washed the green glass, I thought about the stories, my parents told, at the little kitchen table. I thought of Mama, as a little girl waiting for supper happily, as she would have ice in her tea-and daddy running fast, as a young boy, for a handful of ice.

I kept thinking,  once upon a time, people were thankful for ice and  this thought humbled me, greatly.

Advertisements

19 thoughts on “It Happened on Sunday

  1. Sounds like a perfect spring scene- flowers galore. I love that you mentioned spirea. We had those bushes by our front porch when I was growing up. Those little flowers made the best Barbie bouquets!!

    Your table sounds lovely and comfortable. I’d love to have a chair pulled up, listening to your parent’s stories. Can you imagine having to wait for an ice truck?

    Love your writing, as always! ❤️

    Like

  2. I really love how you bring the rabbit patch to life. I could almost smell your Sunday dinner and see those Japanese roses. Tomorrow as I press my refrigerator button for ice, I’ll give thanks for that ability.

    Like

  3. Stories from the past – told by older generations are very interesting. I listened to many stories over the years from my elders and I pass them on to my daughter and young granddaughter. Nice post as always, thanks for sharing.

    Like

  4. So many reasons for thankfulness great and small. You should put a link to this beautiful post to 52 Weeks of Thankfulness so that even more people read your lovely post.

    Like

  5. Loved your story as usual and it made me want for another family reunion so I can also listen to my uncle’s and Mom tell of their childhood with grandmama, and also for some stories about your mom’s childhood as well. 🙂 I love how your oven earns it’s keep and every other thing about your writing! Love you my down-to-earth, flower and family-loving, precious cousin.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. My grandfather, Peter O’Connor, was the ice man (among other things).

    Our house had lovely Spirea out front when we bought it. It was little wild and grew up past the front windows. I read where you should cut this down to the ground to let it regrow. I had such hopes of pruning and shaping those Spirea perfectly. A veritable snow storm of blossoms would top them, like when we moved in. Sadly, this was probably the wrong thing to do to a Spirea. It has never come back to its former glory, over a decade now. It grows thin and spindly, and each year graces us with just a couple dozen of those perfect tiny flowers.
    Still, I love them, and I am thankful for those few, beautiful blossoms.

    Seek peace,

    Paz

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I bet your grandfather could tell some stories-what a glad sight he was for people! I have never cut my spirea-and it does grow with a wild look. I hope yours take of again. Happy March-may it be a beautiful time for you. and thank you for visiting, always-Michele

      Like

I love comments

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s