Sunday morning memories
Happily locked away in the kitchen preparing Sunday lunch, listening to the radio. Enjoying the space and tranquility and freedom. All is else quiet. Family asleep or out about their business.
I am suddenly transported to the time when as a young girl, I would have returned from Sunday school to find my mother much the same, in the kitchen cooking lunch for the family. Only the Bush radio for company, tucked away in the corner, safely out of steam’s way! Mom singing along to BBC’s World Service Family Favourites.
Entering from the back door into a hive of industry - pans with bouncing lids, the hum of the gas oven competing with the sizzle and aroma of roasting pork mingling with the smell of freshly baked cobs still lingering from the coal oven produce of 6am that morning. I can taste it now. The expectation of “trying” the crispy crackling before it gets to table, stealing one of the buxom yorkshires bursting out of the patty tins. We had yorkshire puds with EVERYTHING. Yet despite all the going’s on both visual and audible, an element of calmness hung over all, a serene and happy state, filled with love and purpose. No chaos, no chore.
In that moment, I ached for my mom, for those times again. And yet in these memories, she lives on - she has never left me. She is very much alive in my heart and mind.
