Canadian Author & Memoir Writing Coach
We’re giving thanks for so much here at the old farmhouse, where my husband, his childhood friend Tasso and I just listened to the wonderful Shelagh Rogers interviewing me about the story behind my book A Good Home, on CBC Radio.
Friends in Canada: the show is repeated Saturday at 4 p.m.
For my friends worldwide, here’s the podcast.
I leave you with this interview, and the beautiful fall colours of Ontario.
Much to be thankful for, indeed. With love and thanks, from our family to you.
I grew up in the tea-drinking capital of Jamaica.
Mandeville.
Mandeville was a mountain resort town. The air was cool, the sweaters were thick and some of the oldest homes were built with multiple fireplaces.
It was a snobbish society back then, and more British than the British. The denizens of Mandeville included the titled, the somewhat aristocratic, and those who wished they were.
Afternoon Tea meant dressing up; cucumber sandwiches prepared by a servant; tea served from heirloom teapots into dainty cups.
I looked down my nose at these customs.
**
Fast forward a few decades, and I’m at home near Toronto, when a friend serves me my comeuppance. A cup of comeuppance, you could call it.
Marilyn Mirabelli, owner of Simply Splendid Victorian Afternoon Teas, catered an afternoon tea for my visitors. As you can imagine, Marilyn is passionate and knowledgeable about tea.
Guests included Shelagh Rogers, the celebrated and beloved host of the CBC’s author-interview program, The Next Chapter. Shelagh had read about our old house and garden in my book, A Good Home, and I was pleased to invite her and her colleagues Jacquie and Erin to visit.
We sat around the verandah table, drinking tea from colourful cups.
We enjoyed delicious freshly-baked scones, fruit preserves, Devon clotted cream, and smoked salmon.
The tea was called Buckingham Palace Garden Party Tea.
Marilyn regaled us with tea-tales.
Contrary to popular belief, Marilyn said, it was Anna, Duchess of Bedford – a lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria – who started the afternoon tea tradition.
Anna had dizzy spells in the afternoon, so the doctor prescribed tea with buttered bread. Soon, the other ladies-in-waiting joined Anna in her chamber for tea and toast. Queen Victoria liked the ritual so much, she joined the tea party too.
We also learned that a teacup handle is called an “ear”. Guess why?
Marilyn explained the markings on the bottom-side of our saucers, which give clues to the origins of each set. We eagerly held out our saucers to learn more.
My husband dropped in to say hello. He said we were all grinning like girls at a tea party. Which I guess we were. Kinda.
Fact is, for one afternoon, I’d become a lady who does afternoon tea.
I imagined that my teenage self would have been horrified.
“But we’re not snobs!” I told her. “And we don’t wear hats! And the teacups don’t match! And there are holes in the old chenille spread – – er, tablecloth!”
But she was not amused.
So I didn’t dare tell her that I could get to really like afternoon tea.
Just as long as the cups don’t match, the tablecloth has holes, no-one has a fancy title, and everyone knows how to giggle.
Everybody was complaining about summer.
Not me.
After a painful several months – much of it spent in bed – I welcomed the summer by taking to the verandah.
Colourful cushions, simple wood furniture and time-worn rugs created a homey feel.
A verandah is a place for serious summer reading….
Or some serious hanging out….
In the nearby garden, sometimes it rained and hailed and the wind was crazy.
But flowers bloomed everywhere.
Birds sang.
The air was fresh.
Family and friends came to visit.
Some invited themselves, which I loved.
“How are you coping these days?”
“I’ve taken to the verandah,” I replied.
“I’m coming to visit!”
It was the summer of the verandah. Of kindness and affection. Laughter and quiet moments.
My editor Tim, returning home to South Africa, spent most of his last week in Canada with our family. He held court on the verandah like an eminence grise, saying wise, cryptic and funny things to everyone.
Some people wondered how he’d handle returning to a country which he left decades ago. Tim’s enigmatic reply: “Did I mention I’ll have the use of a heated swimming pool?”
“Long way to go for a heated swimming pool,” we laughed.
Of course, one should always feed one’s visitors. Despite one’s lack of cooking talent.
“You are the best cook I’ve ever met,” Tim declared, straight-faced, to loud laughter.
I swatted him with my dinner napkin. He complained – theatrically – of “the abuses I suffer in your home”.
We alternated between joking, serious talk and companionable silence. If tears were hovering, we didn’t let them show. This man has been a stalwart friend to me through life’s challenging times and I shall miss him.
Marilyn visited next. Marilyn’s the doyenne of tea (See Simply Splendid Victorian Afternoon Teas.) She kindly admired my floral arrangement and I wisely served a cold lunch… no cooking required.
“I caught that salmon, smoked it and sliced it,” I lied.
“Well done,” she praised, playing along.
Seriously, though: the lettuce, tomatoes and red currants came from our garden.
Longtime friend Dale arrived late one night, on her way back home from visiting family out west. I made breakfast, the only thing I cook consistently well, and we caught up on family news.
Marie, who lives way up north, took an evening break from her role in an important cross-country hearing. My husband cooked supper that day, as he did for my childhood friend, Angela and her family. Wonderful occasions.
Jacqui dropped in and lucked into one of the nicest dishes I made this summer.
“But this is GOOD!” she declared.
“Don’t tell anyone!” I pleaded. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”
Dedicated, with a grateful heart, to my caring family and friends… and everyone who appreciates a verandah.
A couple hours north of Toronto, the winter has been harsh. For days on end, my friend Deb and her family were snowed in.
“This week it was minus 36 degrees celsius,” she wrote, “not counting the wind chill! It was so cold that the trees sounded like they were exploding; like shotguns firing nonstop.”
But something sacred is taking place inside this home.
Deb’s mother Gladys, who lives with her, is declining in health. Week by week, something else fails. Two weeks ago, her feet swelled to the point where her shoes couldn’t go on. Gladys is getting weaker.
“Every day is a gift”, Deb wrote recently.
I know what this means. When time is limited, when every day is a gift, one uses time differently.
Every day, mother and daughter try to create – or simply appreciate – moments that bring joy.
Joy comes in many forms.
It comes from listening to music that Gladys enjoys. “We try to fill the house with her favorite songs from opera to Frank Sinatra.” She particularly enjoys Maria Callas and Andrea Bocelli.
Doing things together brings a special kind of joy. Gladys, an accomplished artist, still loves to paint. “Sometimes,” Deb says, ” Mom has enough energy to sketch with me or show me how to paint a picture. Sometimes it means just sitting quietly together in front of the fire and reading.”
Joy comes from simple things like deciding what to cook. “I pore over the recipes and ask her opinion. Then I try to tempt her to have a little, though her appetite has waned.
“I still offer her a glass of wine or a hot chocolate spiced with something special. And Mom still enjoys her peanut brittle, though she has to suck on the pieces rather than bite them (90 year old teeth)!!!!”
They take joy in nature. Gladys often sits in a comfortable chair beside a large window. On the other side of that window is a bird-feeder and beyond that, acres of woods and a snow-covered lake.
“We watch for the many different birds that come to the feeder right by her chair,” says Deb. “We watch the snow swirl around the house and whistle through the trees. We are amazed at the snow sculptures — also known as snow drifts!”
There’s also joy in laughter. The two women watch funny movies together. Like “The Heat”, with Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy. They laughed so hard, they cried.
When friends drop in, they enjoy tea, cookies – and laughter.
And then there’s the kindness of others. “The nurses that come every second day have been so kind and are gentle in spirit.”
Gladys faces each day with a mixture of hope and acceptance. She points out that the doctors are experimenting with a new injection that seems to be helping to give her some strength back. And she also says: “My bags are packed and I am still waiting for a clearance on the runway of life…… That is what snow blindness can do to you. Illusions??? Think positively! Spring is coming!”
Indeed, there are signs of rebirth in the air. Just days ago, a new baby was born – Gladys’ third great-grandchild. It’s a joyful occasion, and Gladys looks forward to meeting the newborn soon.
There’s much sweetness in this time. And sadness. And wonder.
Deb notices that, whatever they’re doing, Bailey, the family’s pet retriever, “spends a lot of time at Mom’s feet as if he knows something.”
As her mother nears the end of her life, Deb finds herself reflecting. “I take Bailey out for a walk every day to breathe….to catch my breath, and pray. To find solace in nature….. to marvel at the snow. I spy two moose in the forest, a mink sliding across the driveway. I tell myself that all I can do is my best. The rest is up to God…the when – and the how – of how this will come to an end.”
She says Gladys is “calm and brave”, her sense of humour and memory still sharp. She surprised Deb recently by reciting a quote from a book she received on her tenth birthday, 80 years ago:
“Deem it not an idle thing
A pleasant word to speak
The words you use, the thoughts you bring
A heart can heal or break”.
It’s moments like this that bring tears to Deb’s eyes. Some days, all it takes is “a word, a song, a story Mom tells.”
But there’s a lovely sense of grace in this home, perhaps reinforced by the words from a prayer by St. Francis which Deb frequently recites: “Make me a channel of Your peace”.
Dedicated to Gladys and Deb, and to all those who’ve had a similar experience.