We Are Blessed and Then Some

Dear Boo and Bubble,

I’ve visited in your home enough times now to get a feel for the family routine.  In my mind, I can see Boo getting up in the morning, going to his closet, selecting his clothes for the day and getting dressed before coming downstairs.  I can hear the “beep” of the coffee pot, set the night before, signaling that your dad’s wake up juice is ready for his thermal to-go cup.  You all congregate, albeit haphazardly at this point, around the white table in your den for breakfast…..no television until you’ve finished.  Then, it’s dad off to work, Boo to school, and mommy and Bubble together to manage all that an active household requires.

Routines are profoundly important.  No matter what comes later, a good predictable start to any day - like a solid springboard - makes for a better outcome.  I believe, too, that routines also produce some of the best childhood memories.

At 3 Lakecrest Drive, the kitchen served as our hub.  A big wooden picnic table filled the center of the room surrounded by cane-bottomed ladder back chairs. The refrigerator, washer and dryer lined one wall behind Great Granddaddy Schaefer’s seat at the table.  A counter-top, double sink and the stove ran down the side underneath a double-paned window looking out into the backyard.  The one and only television sat at the opposite end of the table from Schaefer’s chair. 

A beautiful exposed old brick wall traversed the remaining side with a wood burning fireplace as its focal point.  The hidden ironing board (you remember the blog about Nancy Holloway, Mamaw Mary’s maid) and a small desk packed the corner between the TV and the fireplace.  To say the room was cramped might be accurate, especially when we added great uncle Gene’s playpen.  But, it was a special place and when I think of home, my mind immediately goes to the memories made in that kitchen.

When I was little, our mornings mirrored yours somewhat.  Mamaw Mary and Granddaddy Schaefer woke up first.  Before rousing Bryant and me, they spent some time in the kitchen.  Mamaw started cooking breakfast, granddaddy read the newspaper and, if it were winter and cold, built a fire in the fireplace.  On Mamaw’s cue that breakfast was almost ready, granddaddy walked down the hall to our rooms and woke us up.  We piled out of bed and made our way to the kitchen in our pajamas where we took our seats at the table.  Mamaw served granddaddy first, then Bryant, then me.  Once everybody had a plate, she made her own and sat down.

“Mary, would you say grace?” Granddaddy would say.

“Yes, dear,” she responded.  “Let’s bow our heads and hold hands.”

We obliged and she blessed our food.

This order of things happened at every meal, always in the same fashion.  Granddaddy’s plate came first, then ours, then Mamaw’s, which brought her to the table.  Granddaddy asked her to say the blessing, she’d pray and we’d eat.  It became our routine.

One day, Granddaddy got the bright idea that he would see just how many times he could get Mamaw to say the blessing at one sitting.  He chose Sunday lunch, an especially momentous meal usually consisting of fried chicken, rice and gravy, green beans, and biscuits.  Mamaw pretty much worked herself into a stew getting it ready in a timely fashion after coming home from church. 

Having clued Bryant and me in on his scheme, we assembled at the table trying to contain ourselves so as not to give it away.  First came granddaddy’s plate, then Bryant's, then mine.  Mamaw served her own and sat down.

“Mary, would you say grace?”

“Yes, dear.  Let’s bow our heads and hold hands.”

Our heads went down and we held hands.  We could hardly squelch the giggles.

After a couple of bights, granddaddy said “Mary, could I have a glass of water?”

“Sure.”  And she hopped up to retrieve a glass and fill it.

She put the glass on the table and sat back down.

“Mary, would you say grace?”

“Yes, dear.  Let’s bow our heads and hold hands.”

We accommodated, although the urge to squeal out loud was unbearable.

A few minutes later, granddaddy looked at Mamaw.  “Mary, honestly, I do believe this is the best fried chicken you’ve ever made.  Could I please have another drumstick?”

“Of course,” she answered with delight.  She scooted back from the table and slipped over to the oven where the extra pieces of chicken rested in its warmth.  With tongs, she carefully pulled out a drumstick and maneuvered it to granddaddy’s plate.  She wiped her hands on her apron as she settled back down at the table.

“Mary, would you say grace?”

“Yes, dear.  Let’s bow our head and hold hands.”

I thought Bryant and I were going to explode.  Granddaddy Schaefer winked at us and put his finger up to his lips in a gesture of “shh….”

Would he be able to pull it off one more time?

“Mary, I need a little more gravy for this rice, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”  She slid her chair back once more, took his plate and piled some gravy on top of rice.  “Anything else while I’m up?”

“No, thanks.  Come on back,”  Granddaddy said devilishly.

She sat back down.

“Mary, would you say grace?”

“Okay…let’s bow our heads….”

With that, Bryant and I couldn’t stand it anymore.  We burst out laughing along with granddaddy.  Mamaw was nonplussed.  She had no idea what had been happening.  When granddaddy confessed to the trick, she joined us in the rollick.

Yes, routine is a wonderful thing…..especially when it can be used to make a fun memory like this one.