Medicine: Simple Sundays & A Mug of Hot Cocoa
Grandma and Grandpa never used that table without a tablecloth. They came up in life during depression-era America, so everything they had was taken care of well. They didn’t treat their things with carelessness, because at one point in their lives, having things to care for wasn’t always an option.
We sat around the table, my siblings, my grandparents, my mom, and a few stray cousins or aunts or uncles. This was our ritual every Sunday. My short legs swung from the creaky wooden chair while I eagerly reached for a big piece of buttered toast. This was the same chair that an hour earlier I had knelt against to pray for our meal. My grandparents were hardworking, god-fearing people, and in their house, you knelt to pray at the table.
Spoons clinked against the ceramic cups as we all prepared our hot cocoa. You could hear chatter and laughter as we all reconnected sharing stories from our week. I told stories from my week of play and kindergarten. My brothers told stories of adventures they’d been on after school, and the adults talked about work, the arts, current affairs, anything and everything. Laughter, joy and love were in abundance.
I wiped my small, greasy hands on the table cloth, the butter from the toast had rubbed off all over my hands, and it was making it hard to hold my mug when I wanted a drink of the sweet, hot, chocolatey goodness.
It’s funny to think about the simplicity of these evenings around the round hardwood table in their ’50s era home. Souvenirs and reminders of their world travels hung on the wall. They’d spent time living in other countries, and it showed in their tastes.
Grandma was classy and elegant. Her hair was always neatly cut into the fashion of Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music. She wore simple pointed kitten heels or flats, with simple feminine blouses and flat-front, tapered ankle-length trousers. Grandpa was tall, lean, and towered above everyone. He was classy and simplistic in his style as well — basic well-tailored khakis, and a comfortable polo shirt. His style was perfected by the big kind eyes and smile that rested constantly on his face. He greeted all his grandchildren with a big hug, and a kiss on the cheek. These two were the pillars of our family. And as a child, hot cocoa and toast on a Sunday, was the perfect ending to every week.
After we finished our cocoa, grandpa would rinse all the dishes and load the dishwasher. Grandma would wipe up the table and the table cloth would be shaken off or thrown in the wash. The wooden table surface would then be topped with a board game like Parcheesi, or we’d break out all the dice and play Yahtzee. If it was warm enough, my brothers and I would go out back and play on the swings, or we’d walk up to the park at the top of the hill to look over the city lights.
Simple moments like this were a must for us. Mom worked really hard to feed and clothe us, and provide a warm stable home. Our dad had left us, and sometimes things were really stressful. Mom’s parents lived close, and we spent many a day or night in the safety of their loving home.
My grandparents were creating a simple fun evening with family, but I don’t think they realized how important a Sunday night and a mug of hot cocoa would be to their posterity.
When I was in my mid-twenties and had fallen apart, the first thing that happened in my first sessions of therapy was to picture a time in my life where I felt the safest. We would use this as my meditation image, and I would need to go there whenever I needed to calm down or meditate. It didn’t take long for me to picture those days of hot cocoa and toast. The peace, safety, and positivity that surrounded a simple, chocolatey drink was vivid in my mind.
I’ll always be grateful for hot cocoa Sundays, and the sweet memories they bring.
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