Fond Memories of Drinking Tea on Bygone Days
Each morning when I rise from my bed, I switch on to the classical station on the radio next to my bed and sleepily totter towards my old tired armchair. I lean my head back, close my eyes and will myself to become fully awake.
This morning as I did so, the memory of my father and my Uncle Selim flashed into my head. It was summer. It was late afternoon. Siesta time was over. Everyone was up for the second part of the day. The gardener began watering the lawn. By doing so he was also cooling the air. To me, it smelled delightful, like it does after a sudden rainfall on a hot summer day. The hot dry garden thrills to the feel of the cool water that saturates the lawn and the plants. A satisfied odour emanates throughout the garden. The flowers quiver with delight and exude their delicious perfumes. The grassy lawn sighs contentedly as the cool spray of the water caresses it. The gardener’s bare feet tingles at the feel of the cooling spray.
After their midday nap, Papa and Uncle Selim sat on the patio part of the garden. On one of the side tables, they each had a small glass of hot tea. Next to it was a small silver intricately chased bowl of sugar cubes and matching silver tongs with which to drop them into their tea. On the table, there was a plate of home-made pastries filled with either almond, dates, or cheese. Papa and Uncle Selim were earnestly studying the crossword puzzles in their newspapers as they sipped their tea and nibbled at the pastries. Papa contentedly sucked at his pipe. The smell of the tobacco in the pipe combined with the delicate aromas of roses, the honeysuckle, and the jasmine that had just been watered perfumed the air. The birds chirped happily in the trees.
Sitting in my old armchair early this morning, I smile at my happy memory. “Get up,” I tell myself. “It is time to start this new day.” I look about me. Ebony is sleeping contentedly on my bed, snuggled tightly against me. Picasso is sprawled across the entrance of the room, softly snoring. With an effort, I push myself off the bed and into my armchair. I sigh a sigh of contentment. It is time to start the day. Outside my window, the birds are joyously singing…
Winter
It was lightly snowing outside. The winter scene looks picturesque and dreamy. The terrace outside the upstairs family room is lightly coated with snow. Twilight would be setting soon. My two toddlers and I went to visit my parents. Each of them held a child in their arms. They hold them close and every once in a while absently caress them and give them a peck on their cheeks. The evening news was on. In our family, the news is important. Even Sultan and Khatoon, the mother, daughter live-in help, listen to the news. However, at that moment, they are downstairs preparing a light supper in the kitchen. They have the kitchen radio on to some Persian music. I can hear Khatoon softly humming to the tune. There is a light clatter of pots as they prepare the evening meal. Our main meal is eaten at lunchtime. Usually, the evening meal would either be soup or sweet boiled turnips. If Papa is not home, we would have cheese boiled with onions, somewhat like a fromage fondue, for Papa particularly disliked the smell of cheese.
After the light supper, Sultan and Khatoon would join us as we sit watching TV. In those days people did not own several televisions. It was unheard of and somewhat frivolous to have several televisions in one household, but times have changed. That was over fifty years ago.
It
In the meantime, cups of tea and cake were served. The skies began to grow dark. The children began to tire. It was time to go home. We washed their hands and faces, dressed them in their nightclothes. Before wrapping them up warmly, they were hugged and kissed once more and were safely ensconced into the car.
As I started the car, I begin their nightly litany. I recited to them this verse which I had created for them when they were very little.
“Close your eyes,
What do you see?
I see little fairies looking at me!
Red lights, blue lights, silver lights, and gold,
They tell of glorious tales, yet untold…”
Their eyes slowly closed. By the time we got home, they were fast asleep. They were gently carried to bed. Once in there, they stuck their little thumbs into their mouths and off they went to dreamland…
I smile fondly of that sweet memory. I am an old lady now and my children are adults. So many years have passed since then. How time steadily plods along…