The day dawns hot. A steamy Sunday.
It is a Family Dlnner Day and before leaving for church I put the finishing touches to a meal that will be waiting for us afterwards--roast pork with apple sauce, mashed potatoes and a host of other vegetables.
Early I pull the blinds down on the windows to help keep the house cool. The rooms are shady against the outside blaze of heat.
I arrive back before the crowd arrives and start the vegetables that still need cooking. Soon the kitchen is buzzing with microwave beeps and timers chiming.
Getting multiple dishes to the table simultaneously, is an art that always reminds me of conducting an orchestra. Everything landing on the table at the right temperature simultaneously, is like the crescendo of the piece of music. It doesn't always happen that way, but when it does, it feels like a beautiful thing . " :)
Around the table the happy chaos of chairs shuffling in. There is a straggler in the washroom--the child who is the main "grace sayer."
"Okay, who else would like to say grace?" A parent with an eye on cooling dishes calls for a back up pray-er and is met by quickly raised hands.
We break bread together. Just another Sunday; another meal in a string of feasts around this table. A grandchild's friend is included; no need to ask. There is always room for one more friend.
Later, two generations of children scatter to various rooms. The youngest grandchildren sit slap bang in the middle of the kitchen floor playing first with bubbles from the sink, and later having a tea party with a miniature tea set. We step over them carrying dishes to the sink as they call for reinforcements of "More milk please Omie," or more peanut butter or jam on bread. Pouring milk to cups is endlessly fascinating it seems.
Crafts come out onto table--and games of checkers and Upwords. Parents and grandparents are recruited to play.
A walk dlown to the field at the end of the lawn in the late, hot, afternoon. Children hanging upside down by their legs from trees in the orchard.
As darkness creeps in, a van is piled full with homeward bound family. Another car pulls in. At the sight of two cousins coming home, the oldest grandchild climbs back out from the van. They run together and embrace. Arms locked around shoulders; three girls of 11 and 12, bound in a trinity of love and family on this blessed patch of ground.
Just Sunday; just Sabbath; just wonderful.