Home Made Bread and Doctor's Visits

No home is complete without an extra large, over stuffed chair, with padded high-wide arms; in fact, two is essential if you have children.

Sail with me in my warm yielding safety ship. Two large comfy chairs pushed together near the hot-air heat register, soft multi-colored cotton quilts that surround and tent me as I lay back on down pillows. Minute dust particles dance in the soothing warm sun’s rays shining through the bubbled glass. High clouds moving slowly across the sun and pine boughs swaying near the front porch propelled by a gentle wind cast shadows and light play on the side of my ship. Warm baking bread smells emerge promisingly from the kitchen, while muffled sounds of busy hands and a teakettle on the boil bring promise of an early morning treat.

“Permission to come aboard?” sings Mother as she approaches with the daily light green chewy liquid vitamin I’ve learned to tolerate, a small glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and some weak tea laced with milk and honey. “The bread’s not ready just yet.” I am cradled in love, held safe in my cushioned Ship of State. My reward for the many times I’ve tackled the ravages of whooping cough, pneumonia or bronchitis. At night Mother would climb in my ship, raise me over her shoulder and we would sleep together in that warm safe boat.

My sisters and I improvised as our children grew. Perhaps not home made bread but certainly weak tea with milk and honey, chicken soup, grilled cheese sandwiches. Most of us were able to stay home in the early years if the children were ill and we would set up our couches and chairs if there was a need for a warm welcoming ship to sail.

“Permission to Come Aboard?”