Making Lunch ... with a Whole Lotta Love

For years on end my mother's ritual had been the same. After a full-blown dinner, the table would be cleared and wiped clean, the dishes would be put in the dishwasher while some were washed and dried by hand. The kitchen would be put back to its immaculate, pre-dining form, sparkling and clean. And then the rest of the ritual began.

Out came the brown paper lunch bags, lined up in a row on the counter -- five in all, with our names written on them: my dad, my three brothers, and myself. White bread sandwiches were wrapped up in waxed paper, with an initial written on the outside to identify the owner of the sandwich. In went the sandwich, the fruit, the snack, the napkin, and occasionally a little note saying "I love you" or "Have a great day" ... Every single night, for years on end, my mom worked at the kitchen counter, with the tools of her trade spread around her, making our lunches.

My mom was a world-class baker, so more often than not the snack in our bag was some kind of delicious homemade treat. I was the envy of my class, with my mother's tasty reputation preceding her. In 5th grade I sat in the row second from the left, second from the back. Behind me sat Carl, a stocky round-faced African American boy who salivated over my mom's baking. And of course the grass is always greener on the other side of the desk ... I was jealous of Carl, whose mom always, daily, packed him some kind of pre-made, pre-packaged Hostess snack. My mom never, ever, ever bought Hostess snacks -- fruit pies, Suzie-Q's, Devil Dogs, you name it. Nothing. So often it would be lunch time, we'd grab our brown paper bags, and I'd hear Carl behind me: "So, whatcha got today?" Out came the plastic-wrapped chunk of a Rocky Road Dream Bar, eagerly turned over for a Suzie-Q. (What was I thinking ...)

On Tuesday, for the first time, the lunch baton will be passed along to me. I don't make lunches now -- Don makes his own lunch in the mornings before work. This will be a new thing for me, making someone's lunch after dinner. My current rituals will change -- the clearing of the dishes as quickly as possible, and then playing with the kids. Now I have to make a lunch somewhere in there. We don't have brown paper bags, but instead we have a blue insulated lunch bag, adorned with a race car. In will go his sandwich, some fruit, a snack, a container of chocolate milk, a napkin, and probably a little note saying "I love you" or "Have a great day!" And year up on year I will be making lunches at my kitchen counter after the dishes are cleared ...

And thus I start another chapter on my journey.
Making lunch ... with a whole lotta love.