Now that I am on my own I am invited to friends houses for holidays. I always bring something to contribute because my Mom taught me not to go someplace empty handed. I like my friend’s house because it’s lived in. The last time I went there weren’t any magazines or books on the coffee table and it just didn’t look right. The first thing my brother from another mother asks if I would like something to drink.
Since I moved I have had my coffee buddy over a few times. Last time I provided the coffee and she brought timbits. I have to buy a little carton of milk for her coffee. Next time we have coffee we will be able to sit outside. The great thing about this friend is that she takes me as I am. I will clean before she comes but if she picked me up at the house and I didn’t have time to clean the kitchen I wouldn’t worry about it.
A long time ago I attended a bible study in someone’s home. They provided the drinks and we all would provide snack. We would take turns. Janet and I brought cookies. Even last year the girls were still talking about the cookies. The host said this was our gift…hospitality. I always thought it was hosting but it involves more than that. For us cooking was showing our love for someone else. Every time my brother came home from university we would have lasagna. Even when it was 30 degrees outside at Thanksgiving one year we still had stuffing because it was his favourite. He would be sent home with most of the leftovers.
Janet and I would go over to my grandparents on Saturday. We would have something to drink and a cookie. One week there weren’t any cookies (oatmeal) and grandma apologized. For us it didn’t matter. When my grandfather died my cousin wanted the candy dish in the shape of a rooster. It probably wasn’t worth that much but for him that was his memory.
When we went to my Dads eldest sisters house for lunch we would often have pizza. She told my parents that she got to the age where she realized that she didn’t want to be slaving in the kitchen. This way she could sit and relax and visit. Many of my childhood memories revolve around Mothers pizza.