A Sweet Memory in Time
It is a cool, cloudy Sunday morning in the disappearing month of August. It feels as if the month is preparing to bid summer farewell. From the window over the kitchen sink, I hear the birds chirping on the fence. Even they seem to be singing a less cheerful tune. I finished my breakfast, tidied the kitchen, and climbed upstairs to get ready for the rest of the day. But I did not, for as I slowly trudged up the stairs, my mind wandered back to the past, as it does so often these days. It flashed back to a Sunday morning in winter. I had decided to make crêpes Suzette. It was the perfect day for it. The snow outside the windows was slowly waltzing its way to the ground in a most graceful manner. The radio in the kitchen was playing the habitual classical music. Peter and I were in our fleecy dressing gowns. He had his warm flannel pajamas on underneath, and I had a comfy nightgown. Our feet were both shod in fur-lined bedroom slippers. Yes, it was a perfect morning for crêpe Suzette.
I prepared the batter and pulled up the metal barstool I used in the kitchen to the stove. Peter had bought it for me to use when I needed to stand for a prolonged period of time. He pulled up a kitchen chair and sat opposite me. As I carefully ladled portions of the batter into the pan, we sipped our tea and chatted of this and that. Every once in a while, I offered him a crêpe, and he occasionally tore one in half and popped it into my mouth. We sat there contentedly piling the crêpes onto a small platter. Soon Kelly would come back from walking the dogs, and we would have a late breakfast. I made coffee that day, instead of my usual pot of tea. The heady aroma perfumed the house.
Looking back to that wintry Sunday morning, I feel as if the room was filled with love, contentment, and light. There was a special aura of je ne sais quoi that happiness brings. The kitchen that day was filled with it, shimmered and swayed with it. It danced with it. As I write, I feel a light touch upon my cheek. It is a faint kiss from the past. It is my Peter saying he will always be there, remembering and being the loving man he always was.