Early this morning I woke up having a dream about my family. That's not unusual for me, but this one was REAL. You know those kind of dreams. It made me terribly home sick, but I have been able to think about my family all day...and that makes me smile. It especially made me smile when I began to think about kitchen whispers...
Growing up one of my favorite things was going to visit my grandparents. And my aunts, uncles, cousins, their friends, etc. I loved people. I loved to people watch. People listen. Most of my life we lived about 5 hours from my Mimi and Papaw's house, so a visit to see them always meant at least one sleepover! I had a designated spot where I got to sleep, and everyone knew it. Mimi would always make a pallet for me between her side of the bed and their beautiful dresser. I didn't mind waking up to the sound of my Papaw carefully trying to
open his drawer to get a pair of socks. I knew that meant he was leaving
to go to the oil fields. Or to the sound of him snoring...which he
always swore he didn't do. And I loved to hear my Mimi turn on the closet light as she picked out her clothes each morning. I became more and more scrunched in the spot as I got older, but no one was taking that spot from me until I got married.
I remember falling asleep to the sound of Moma and Mimi talking in the kitchen. The start of the kitchen whispers. They talked about animals, flowers, family, hopes, dreams, and wonders. They talked about friends that had passed away, people they ran into at the local United Supermarket, and which roping Papaw was going to the following weekend. Those whispers helped me fall asleep, but similar ones woke me up each morning. When Papaw would leave to check on his oil wells, I would fall right back to sleep because it was so early. Then about 8 or 9 I would wake to the sound of crackling bacon, the smell of coffee, and the sound of kitchen whispers. I would hear my dad's deep voice asking Papaw about a friend of his, hear my Papaw tell my dad the last time he saw him at the domino hall, and then hear my mom and Mimi laugh about something going on in the background. You could tell when one kid at a time would enter the kitchen because the whispers would turn into a unison cry of a good morning greeting. I liked to be one of the first ones up, but sometimes I would stay in bed just to keep listening to the whispers.
When I was younger more and more family stayed at Mimi and Papaw's house. All of us crammed together in the bedrooms, the living room, and the lower level of the living room where the garage once stood. As I got older though, fewer and fewer whispers filled the kitchen. People got married, people moved, and it became harder and harder to get everyone together. When I was in high school, I still slept at the side of Mimi and Papaw's bed. Soon my little cousin MaKayla slept at the foot of their bed, and then in my spot when I wasn't there. I knew I was getting older, so I was glad she wanted to sleep there. Glad it was special to her, too. But it still made me sad that I would have to leave my spot soon. I got married and my special spot became MaKayla's entirely. I missed hitting my head on the lamp above me, and I missed the sounds of that room. But I still got to hear the kitchen whispers in the other rooms.
Those kitchen whispers soon included new voices, but as long as I heard the older voices my heart was content. In December of 2009 those kitchen whispers became unsettling. They were sad and questioning and worried and angry. Then in February they became a little more cheery, but still not the ones I remembered growing up. Later that month those whispers were different. There was a whisper I sure missed. There was no talk of team ropings, no talk of oil wells. I miss those whispers. If I close my eyes I can still hear the sound of bacon crackling. I can still smell the coffee. I can even still hear those kitchen whispers.
At my Granmama and Papa's house there were different kitchen whispers. My Granmama spoke in such a soft voice no one could ever hear her (sound familiar?)...but when she spoke it was either sweet or funny, so it was always worth the strain of trying to hear. I remember hearing my Papa talk about festivals they were having in town, grandkids, meat, and musical instruments. I also can still hear him slurping his coffee. We only lived about an hour from their house, so those kitchen whispers usually happened around lunch time on Sunday afternoons. In 2000 my Papa went home to Jesus, then we moved to another part of Texas...and that's where those kitchen whispers seem to stop.
Today I have new kitchen whispers that I wake up to every morning. It's the sound of my boys playing Legos, wondering if they should go wake Ben and I up to get them something to eat. It's Jake whispering loudly from the bathroom for Wesley to bring him some clothes, and Wesley trying his best to softly give Jake a dialogue to follow while playing with their toys. Some mornings the kitchen whispers include Ben coming in from work, talking on his phone. Or him telling the boys good morning as they excitedly run to where he is. Some of my favorite whispers are the boys laughing as they tackle Ben on the couch or try to convince him to jump on the trampoline at 8 in the morning. I know one day all of these kitchen whispers will be gone just like the ones before them. So I want to thank my Father God for giving me these memories.
I pray that as you start each day my friends, you will stop and listen to the kitchen whispers.
Those kitchen whispers soon included new voices, but as long as I heard the older voices my heart was content. In December of 2009 those kitchen whispers became unsettling. They were sad and questioning and worried and angry. Then in February they became a little more cheery, but still not the ones I remembered growing up. Later that month those whispers were different. There was a whisper I sure missed. There was no talk of team ropings, no talk of oil wells. I miss those whispers. If I close my eyes I can still hear the sound of bacon crackling. I can still smell the coffee. I can even still hear those kitchen whispers.
At my Granmama and Papa's house there were different kitchen whispers. My Granmama spoke in such a soft voice no one could ever hear her (sound familiar?)...but when she spoke it was either sweet or funny, so it was always worth the strain of trying to hear. I remember hearing my Papa talk about festivals they were having in town, grandkids, meat, and musical instruments. I also can still hear him slurping his coffee. We only lived about an hour from their house, so those kitchen whispers usually happened around lunch time on Sunday afternoons. In 2000 my Papa went home to Jesus, then we moved to another part of Texas...and that's where those kitchen whispers seem to stop. 
Today I have new kitchen whispers that I wake up to every morning. It's the sound of my boys playing Legos, wondering if they should go wake Ben and I up to get them something to eat. It's Jake whispering loudly from the bathroom for Wesley to bring him some clothes, and Wesley trying his best to softly give Jake a dialogue to follow while playing with their toys. Some mornings the kitchen whispers include Ben coming in from work, talking on his phone. Or him telling the boys good morning as they excitedly run to where he is. Some of my favorite whispers are the boys laughing as they tackle Ben on the couch or try to convince him to jump on the trampoline at 8 in the morning. I know one day all of these kitchen whispers will be gone just like the ones before them. So I want to thank my Father God for giving me these memories. I pray that as you start each day my friends, you will stop and listen to the kitchen whispers.
