Till We Meet Again Read Online Free Page A

putting my untouched plate and cup down on the countertop.
    As I took the bowl of collard greens from her she squeezed my shoulder and gave me a kiss on my forehead, “Thanks, Simone. And let me know if you see any other empty bowls out there.”
         “Will do!” I said eagerly.
         “Simone!” she called me back. “Here. I was saving these for you.”
    She handed me a small plate of “pigs in the blanket.”
         “Thanks!” I said thinking how does she always know what I want?
    As I walked through the other swinging door that lead to the dining room I knew that a piece of me would leave with her again.
    The dining room was my favorite part of the house. Was it because of the crystal chandelier that hung over the large mahogany dining room table and chairs; the matching hutch & sideboard that were polished to the point where you could see your reflection; the fine china and crystal glasses set at each place setting during our sit down dinners; or the white and royal blue wall paper and matching blue carpet? Or was it the pocket doors? I loved these doors because when you opened them from the foyer, you felt as if you were about to dine with royalty.
    Yes, all of these helped to make it my favorite room but the overall reason why our dining room was my favorite room in the house was because it is where my favorite childhood memories were made. We were not allowed to use the front of the house, dining room and living room, except for special occasions. The Open House was a special occasion, but the food was served buffet style. Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas were sit down dinners. And they were the best!
    On those occasions there would be two long tables set up in the dining room for my grandparents, some of their siblings, my aunts and uncles, their spouses, other relatives, and close family friends. And with the pocket doors open there would be two smaller tables leading into the foyer for us grandchildren. Both were considered “the kids table” but the table closest to the adults was the one for the younger grandkids and the other was for us older grandkids. I was the 2 nd to oldest grandchild; my cousin Annette was older than me by six months. She never really rubbed my nose in it but it bothered me that I was not the actual oldest.
    I loved listening to the adults talk about “the good old days”. The conversations were always loud and boisterous and usually very funny. They also talked about how strict my grandparents were with them. But my grandparents weren’t nearly as strict with Rita and me as they were with our aunts and uncles. Constantly our aunts and uncles would tell us “we were never allowed to do that”. It wasn’t until I was much older, and faster, when I started telling them that was because Grandma and Grandpa liked Rita and me better than them. But I think the truth was closer to the fact that with 10 children you had to be strict in order to keep things in order. And by the time Rita and I came along they were probably just too tired to be so strict.
    Things really got heated when they started talking about politics. My grandfather and my Uncle Bob, an executive for a fortune 500 company, were diehard Republicans, some of my aunts and uncles were Moderates but my mother and Uncle Willie were just as passionate about being Liberals. Needless to say these conversations would get pretty interesting and always fun to watch from the sidelines.
    In between listening to the heated debates we older grandkids were left to our own devices to discuss the meaning of life. Well as much as we could as preteens and teenagers. My sister Rita and I always looked forward to hanging with our cousins. The older ones lived out on Long Island so we didn’t see them as much as we’d like to but we always had a great time when we were all together. Listening to the adult conversations; them walking down memory lane; the jokes among my aunts and uncles; and hanging with my cousins were