did not grow up with a large family, since my mom was an only child and my dad only had one brother. So cousins were very special in our lives, and one we called “Auntie Violet”. She lived in an old apartment house near Milwaukee. We’d climb several flights of steps to get to her apartment, and as soon as the door was opened, the warmth of the room flushed our faces and the rich aroma’s of her baking and cooking made us instantaneously craving for the meal.
The apartment was small and cozy, with rich wood tones and rooms with character that are rarely found today. Her kitchen was small yet the large bulky white oven never failed a luscious meal. And the farm type kitchen sink was stacked full dishes. The best china was carefully set out on the large dining table, covered with the best of linens, and real silverware correctly placed for each setting.
Auntie Violet wore an apron, probably hand-made and always a short-sleeved dress, with tissue stuffed in her sleeve. She loved serving and sent us home with homemade gingerbread cookies that I’ve never tasted the likes of again since my childhood.
Ode to a Playground? No, it was not a playground. We wore our Sunday best, did not play or goof around and sat still, mainly listening to adults. But it’s Ode to times gone by, three of the older family members now at Jesus’ feet yet precious memories of sharing, feasting, and laughing. I wish I could get a glimpse of that place again, but, it’s Ode to Holiday Childhood Memories.