Pitchers

    

     My relationship with pitchers, of all shapes and sizes, started when I was a little girl. 

     One of my earliest memories of pitchers was completely imaginary.  As a child we, my cousins and I, played outside most of the time, and I loved to draw houses in the dirt with a strong stick dividing my house into rooms.

     In our imagination ,we poured and poured , in our empty-handed fantasy. I was simply mimicking my mother, the most gracious hostess of all.

     The early pitchers in my adult house were used for brewed ice tea, frozen orange juice, fruity concoctions for my girls, and the occasional margarita for a teacher or two or twenty.

     My collecting of milk glass began a search for creamers , and although I have more than my share, I gravitate to the stability of a paired set- the ultimate two by two. 

     There is something hopeful about a sugar bowl and a matching creamer.  What other problems can one have in the world, if they are able to share their home and their lives serving coffee to friends and family?

     I would trade every solitary drive-thru window in the world, paper cups warning HOT, trash cans waiting at the exit, for the chance to sit in my living room serving coffee to friends.

     Everyday I enjoy the pleasure of making iced tea and serving it out of this old grocery store pitcher.

Note to daughters: this pitcher holds our history.

      I pour milk into my coffee out of this hob nail creamer, when I am not rotating it with other small pitchers I have.

     Again I say, it is not ever about stuff. That term should be reserved for drive-thrus.

     It is about simple, unique, shared pleasures.