When I opened the door this morning to retrieve the newspaper and milk bag, I was pleasantly welcomed by a blast of cold air, thanks to the rains yesterday.
A wave of nostalgia hit me right away, as I remembered many mornings in the past when my Mom was alive. We would enjoy our coffee in the verandah, rushing there hurriedly before the sun peeped out to greet the world in an obvious way.
Our verandah tends to be bathed in sunlight and we would be there to catch the first rays, tumblers of hot filter kaapi nestled in our hands. We would muse about how it cooled down so quickly out there, even though the warmth remained in the tumblers after we finished the last drop. We would survey our neighbors’ verandahs, at least the ones we could see from our vantage point and admire some, not be so impressed with some.
When Mom was there, and before our pigeons became a menace, we had a pretty lush garden that she would lovingly talk to, water regularly and gloat on. We took pictures of the flower of the day, feeling very proud of it. Best of all, fueled by the rich coffee, we would dream and fantasize about a range of things. She’d talk about things she always wanted to do and didn’t get around to doing – with me assuring her I’ll make them come true for her. We would talk about grand home improvement plans and the feasibility of doing them ourselves. We were big DIY-ers and enjoyed messing about with stuff.
How could I ever forget that time when Sury was out of the country for three months and we painted the entire house on our own? One pink bedroom, one lemon yellow bedroom, peach for the kitchen and by my insistence, ivory for the living room :-).
Oh, I miss you, Mom!