A Day of Laughter

My home is full of laughter on this day. My older children play board games and reminisce about their childhoods. I joyfully listen to the endless dialog of memories as secrets held in confidence for years revealed without fear. They speak of their youth as if it were a long time ago. It was merely yesterday. I find it amusing, because their memories of the past differ from my own.

Juliet clings tightly to her grandmother. She assists with preparations in the kitchen. The rest of us must patiently wait until the evening meal to lay our eyes on the glorious feast whose aroma fills our humble home.

My mother-in-law believes that a mind not challenged becomes old and useless with time. She attends a culinary school, although I am certain improvement in the art of preparing meals is not necessary. The old woman can produce extraordinary meals with minimal ingredients. Last evening, she suprised us with a hearty salad that looked like a flower garden. It was beautiful; a variety of edible flowers and hummingbirds sculpted from simple fruits and vegetables. Without bias, I admit the culinary masterpiece was suitable for the king’s table. I have never seen such an amazing display of food, the cooks at the castle amateurs in comparison. My husband and children will forever snub their noses at my less than adequate bowl of salad vegetables from this day forward.

The thunderstorms continue. I have spent hours on this day occupying a rocker on my front porch. I find the clap of thunder and lightning strangely soothing. The constant rain makes me miserable. The town criers announce drier weather is on the horizon. I pray this is so. The constant dampness plays havoc with my feet. Today I yearn for a dry pair of warm socks that would subdue the ache in my cold toes. There are days when I hate being old. I desire the days of my youth when running and jumping in puddles of mud bare foot during a rainstorm brought great pleasure.