A Softer Side of Life

  

Hospitality, Genteel Ladies, and Love

        I just read a blog on facebook.  Yes, I'm one of those people who actually read what other people post. I appreciate other's thoughts and love their ways of painting pictures with words. There are as many topics as bloggers. I am especially drawn to life's  stories.      

       Some think in the present, some of the past, and some look to the future, leaving behind what once was.

      I'm particularly fond of memories of the people in my past, as they relate to my present. How much those people shaped me, and how much that past has helped to form me. 
      I love the fact I had grandparents and great grandparents, aunts and uncles who were active in my life. I like closing my eyes and seeing my great grandparents home next to the highway, by the old Methodist Church in a small island town in South Louisiana.

    I like remembering the lessons learned from a generation of "real ladies". The ones who knew how to entertain, grow beautiful flowers and dress simply but elegantly.Those are memories of the women who lived during my early years, and a couple still live today.
   That is where I started to learn what hospitality is and how sacrifice for your neighbor would often come before your own needs. You would bake a pie or a cake, or even a whole meal because someone was sick; or just because. These gifts were always accompanied by flowers.
     Gardens of beautiful flowers were just a given in my childhood. "Garden Club Meetings" with each lady arriving with an arrangement designed from flowers grown in her own yard. I remember such bright, beautiful blooms and bright beautiful smiles.

     Somehow, even as a young girl attending with my grandma, I sensed a light, easy going way of life and entertaining. The large brimmed straw hats they wore, some with colorful scarves, some with a sash under the chin;while they worked in the yard. They were colorful and elegant looking and somehow genteel to an impressionable girl.
     Sometimes they would bring a basket, 
the flat bottom wicker kind with the tall curved handle, and "pruning shears" to take home "cuttings" of plants they might not have in their own garden. In the basket would also be their gloves. These items were the tools of their trade.
     The "meetings" always started the way any meeting starts, collecting dues (for next months refreshments), order of old business, and the judging of each arrangement and ribbons for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place winners. Then came the brief program, presented by the hostess of the month, usually about an article on caring for, arranging, or re-potting plants. 
     After all the official garden club business was complete, came the refreshments. I loved the flower part, but was totally antsy waiting for those cool summer refreshments.    
     Living in the country, there was always different fruit, peach, strawberry, or maybe lemon. They made the best. Fruit was used in breads or sometimes cooked down into sauces for homemade ice cream, ummm. In the hot months of summer, we would have fresh fruit with heavy whipping cream, or homemade ice cream. I can still remember sneaking more than a couple servings. Always remembering gramdma's lecture on the way over, about remembering my manners.    
     The beverages usually were freshly made Lemonade, or a flavored iced tea and coffee. In the country, in South Louisiana, there was always coffee. Strong, dark, rich coffee, served with milk and sugar, or just black.
     No matter the menu, the table was usually perfectly set, buffet style, on the porch or breezeway. They even set up under the mossy trees with Azaleas or other colorful blooms; and sunlight peeking through.
     The table always had a pretty table cloth and cloth napkins with nice china dessert plates. I was always fascinated by the tiny dessert forks and spoons; no plastic or throw-a-way anything.
     Looking back, through my minds eye, I can remember each lady and hear her voice and laughter. The ones who stand out most, are my grandmother's sisters. Ladies with old fashion names like Edith, Winnie, Vera, Julia and grandma herself, Emma. They always had a smile and a kiss on the cheek for each other, and especially for me.
     Life always seemed slower in the country. I think Spring was my favorite time though. Everything seemed washed and clean, with sunshine streaming through the trees and sparkling through the sprinkler drops, giving life to budding flowers.
     Back then we walked almost everywhere. The town was so small and things moved so slowly. Oftentimes, paths led between houses and wandered through the woods. The moss hanging from the tall over-hanging branches of the oak trees, gave a sense of being suspended in time; never changing. The colors there in the woods were dark green, gray and aged brown bark. The flowers were small, their colors yellow, maybe a purple or white. They were nature's blooms, but none of them bloomed tall and colorful like those planted in the yards full of sunshine that were cared for by loving hands.
       I can think for hours about the beauty, love and dedication that ran through the lives on that small island. I give honor and a life of love to these simple, God loving people.