Story for writing class–Meals


She sat at the table for the last time. The moving van was coming tomorrow to take the few boxes that she was going to take with her. No need for good dishes now plus there would be no room to store them. She remembered dividing up her grandmothers dishes 25 years ago. The fancy jam jars that she would bring out when they stayed overnight on Saturday. She remembered how special it was to get a choice of jams even if it was just for cereal and toast. She could see the plates that she used but couldn’t tell you what the pattern was. She had a huge buffet at the end of the dining room or what was really part of the living room.
How many meals have been eaten here? She would miss the huge window that looked out to the garden. The beautiful arches. Ham and scalloped potatoes for company. Usually served with turnip puff and there was no disguising it the strong odor permeated the house. The smell of turkey cooking, baking cookies together. The mustard stain on the carpet that never did come out.
Her mothers recipe box was safely packed away. It was unlikely that she would be making date squares or rhubarb fluff anytime soon but there were memories in this box. there were many recipes passed down from Aunts, cut out of newspapers. Some meals don’t even require a recipe anymore. 52 Sundays in a year meant many weeks making pancakes.
Meals are still eaten on the flowered dinner plates with the pattern long since faded with wash. A small crack in one. The table is now dark wood with black leather parson chairs. Yellow placemats to brighten the table. Flowers to remember special dates.


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