I really miss on days like this, the sound of Sunday meals. Sitting at that large table sharing not only the crispy and warm bread, the limitless salads, the savoury entrees my mother will cook for us... but I miss as much the noise of many conversations being held at the same time.
Savouring every bite along with the perfect wine, father's choice in order to surprise my grandfather, with a new french red wine. I still hear my father's voice and my grandpa's laugh talking about their childhood adventures. They laughed sometimes until they cried, because they use to play on the same pranks to neighbours and peers.
I miss the sumptouosity with which my mother will set the table. It always seemed she was using a new table cloth, new utensils, a new flower pot; she just kept tricking my eye and renewing our enjoyment, the flowers were different and her imagination to set the table and create a perfect ambiance was unlimited.
My grandfather used to feel so proud of her. He was sitting at that table feeling cherished and comfortable. He would always compliment her saying things like: "We eat like kings at Jeannette's", or : "There is no better thing to do, than having lunch with you"
My grandfather used to bring a tray full of pastries, he would have thought of every single palate. He enjoyed so much watching us, wide eyed, as we had to pick one (or two) of those sweet good pastries... beyond self control.
This ritual was held for years as our Sunday must. Rain or shine we would share the table at my parents. I always had this happy fulfilled feeling whenever the reunion came up to an end. I cherish those moments. I hold these memories close to my heart as they are heart-lifting. They show me a trail to follow, a way of setting my goal; as much as they help me keeping up. In many ways, life might be complicated, but holding to these memoires makes it a lot more simple and light.
Mariejeanne Carro
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