Holding Court

One of my jobs as a child was to plug in the coffee pot every morning. There was no such thing as automatic timers back in the middle ages and no disposable filters. This was a percolator that let you know it was perking. So dependent on the caffeine buzz was my mom that I didn't dare show my face unless my chubby little fingers had plugged in that pot. I never failed to do it. And she never failed to ask me if I'd done it. On Sundays, when I got older, the routine included making Pillsbury orange danish rolls before church.

Some of my most favorite memories of my mom are when she'd hold court in her bedroom. I specifically remember opening my birthday present when I was eight on her bed. It was a box of 64 crayons with a sharpener in the back. All those lovely colors. My favorite: cornflower blue. (How pathetic is that? Crayons for a birthday present. I bet you think I got an orange in my stocking at Christmas. You'd win that bet.) But, I digress.

Later, after I was married and visited only occasionally, the routine was the same. My dad, or Ron, would bring her a cup of coffee (straight up black) and, if the pantry provided, a danish or some other sweet treat. I'd wander in and there she'd be, sitting up in bed with pillows behind her in her flannel pjs, dainty little china coffee cup in hand, and her hair mussed up. The kids would rush in and she'd have to remind Tyler (again) not to stand on the bedrails at the end of the bed. He and Kate would fly onto the bed and up her coffee cup would go in an attempt to not lose a drop of the precious black nectar. We'd sit in there for an hour or two and just catch up. We'd talk about who was ailing with what, the kids, my work, the birds outside their huge picture window and the level of the lake. And what we were going to do that day, once we deemed it necessary to leave the inner sanctum and walk amongst the peasantry. Anyone old enough to tote hot liquid would be asked, ever so nicely, to get her some more coffee. She ruled with absolute authority and lots of love and laughter.

Now that they've moved a half hour away those days of being in attendance at the queen's court are a thing of the past. I really miss it. I think everyone probably does. I may just have to spend the night sometime so I can bring her coffee and plop down on the bed and soak up the wisdom.