A prayer for what I believe must be a Christmas dinner. The year I am unclear of but near 1963. The little child me, eyes wide open with a grin. Naughty me to not be in reverence . My brother is praying so very hard with such determination. My mother in a nun like pose with her hands. My Nan, bowed head with humble heart.
God is great
God is good
And I think thee
For our food
Amen.
That was what I would say when it was my turn to say prayer. My brother must have said something more creative than my repeating this simple prayer.
Crisp linen table cloth and napkins, my mom's Chantilly silver neatly placed next to her Lenox China pattern of Harvest. Candles lit with her centerpiece of gold and red.
See the silver goblets? Oh those silver goblets how I loved them! Our water staying chilled in them as well as a frosty condensation forming on the outside. Sometimes she would fix real Egg Nog and serve it in them. But not for my brother and I as it had bourbon in it. Southern Egg Nog which is nothing like what comes in a carton. Real eggs separated, with yolks and cream beaten till frothy. Sugar added along with the bourbon then let sit to "cook" the egg. Beating the egg white to a stiff consistency and folding them gently into the egg yolk / cream / bourbon mixture. When I was an adult she fixed it after a very long time of not serving it. It had quite a kick and though I am not fond of bourbon I would try it again. Maybe when the silver goblets come back to me.
Remember the song "Indian Giver" ....
That song plays in my head over the numerous times my mom would give and take them from me. Several times she loaned them to me for a special dinner I would be doing. It was the gifting that bugged me. Each time she gave them to me they were all cleaned with silver polish and wrapped up. Some lines she would say were that she didn't really use them much and new I would enjoy them. Each time I was thrilled to be given those cherished globlets and within a few months she would need them back for her own special dinner. I would not see them come back to me the last time this happened.
I could have reminded her to return them but that wasn't something I could or would do. She didn't take to kindly to my asking for them back or most times there would be an excuse. She once even said I didn't want them and had given them back to her! They stand in grace in her large glassed door cabinet in her dining room. All twelve staggered on the shelf like trophies along with other silver platters, urns, and such.
