My grandmother's name was Laura. We called her "Magga" because my brother couldn't pronounce Grandma. She lived with us for her last few years because she, too, had cancer. The cancer ordeal meant so little to me back then other than the idea of losing her to it, but I couldn't relate to the suffering and confusion over what it does to your body. Every morning when I went to high school, Magga would make me tea and toast. She poured her tea out of that coffeepot. I can still hear her New England accent... "oh deahh, your skirt is fah too short to go out like that." She sounded just like a Kennedy.
So every morning, I drank the tea that I didn't like and kissed Magga goodbye in my 7" - long skirt. She cringed but hugged me tightly anyway. I'm quite fond still of orange marmalade that she smeared on that toast. I'm missing that toast and marmalade with my latest low-carb funfest. It tastes like home to me.
It hit me today how many times I've shoved that teapot off to the side of the cupboard never allowing myself to take the darn thing to Goodwill. As we get into our sixties, we must come to terms with the fact that our kids do NOT want our stuff from our memories because it means nothing to them. I have so many dumb material things that take me back home, and even though my mother's passing was a bit bizarre, her things are difficult to dump also. With scores of boxes worth of treasures it is time to begin sifting out things that no one wants. The most important aspect of those trinkets is to use them during our lives and not wait for special occasions. It is in their use that conjures up the sweet memories.
I won't be throwing that blue teapot out any time soon, but if any of my kids start drinking tea, I may beg them to take it.
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