Natalie Whatley

Sometimes life throws punches that leave profound marks.  My eyes are nearly swollen shut.

Thursday, February 12, started out like any other weekday. The only pressing item on my agenda was my daughter’s fourth-grade Valentine’s party. As the room mother, it was an event I had been working on with other parents for a couple of weeks.

The sweet social event was to have a menu of cheese, crackers, fruit, cookies, and pink raspberry sherbet punch.  The punch was my contribution as I’d decided a bowl full of pink punch would look very nice atop a red-covered table and be tasty to boot. I purchased all the ingredients early in the week and didn’t give it another thought.

After getting all the kids off to school that morning, I began gathering serving dishes and supplies. Perched in the far recesses of my cabinets was the punch bowl given to me by my late grandmother, Joyce King, at least ten years ago. It wasn’t the gift of a brand-new punch bowl, but rather the handing down of one that was very experienced in the beverage containment business.  

 I carefully pulled the bowl from its secure location. Holding it brought many images of Maw Maw King to the surface of my mind. I was bowled over.  I sat down with it cradled in my hands and the waterworks started. Then I succumbed to a full-blown bawling session.  I hadn’t had the bowl out since she passed away almost three years ago.

She loved to attend parties. I can see her, standing by that punch bowl, corsage pinned to her dress, making eye contact with the shyest person in the room and calling out, “Come have some punch!”  By second nature, she ladled out refreshment to the soul and the body.

The bowl appears to be ordinary, standard glass. But its ornate design is beautiful nonetheless.  Brand new, it came with matching glass cups, most of which I have.  Over the years she added an assortment of other glass cups. That eclectic mix mirrored her welcoming ways; somehow I know she didn’t want a lack of cups to keep anyone from making their way to the punch bowl. And a Depression-era upbringing caused her to bristle at our modern disposable-cup ways.

After some very emotional moments, I got myself together and finished the task of packing up the items I’d need at the school.

The pink punch was a big hit, and the party went off without a hitch. My simple recipe was requested, and I gladly shared: half a gallon of raspberry sherbet, thawed slightly; two liters of cold ginger-ale; and 33 oz. of chilled pineapple juice – mix and enjoy. An old punch bowl adds some magic to the common fixings.  

I enjoyed the company of my daughter’s class along with some moms and grandmas I’ve come to know and love throughout my daughter’s elementary years. And I’m glad Maw Maw’s bowl punched me in the eyes . . . reminded me to look at what’s really important instead of fumbling around with disposable cups. 

© 2009 Natalie Whatley  

Tags: disposable cups, Grandparents, parties, punch bowl