Giving thanks for hospitable lessons

KAREN WIGHT

A version of this article ran four years ago on Thanksgiving. I

missed my wonderful Mrs. Bell then, but I think I miss her even more

today. As I sit in my own kitchen with my own children and their

friends, I realize that I have fulfilled the prophecy. Yet I would

love another opportunity to sit with her and have a cup of tea. I can

still see her, sitting in the kitchen poring over a book with her

half-moon glasses on, pretending to be surprised that I arrived for

nourishment, both physical and spiritual. “Darling,� she would say,

“life is perfect. Everything will work out. Trust me.� I have, Mrs.

Bell, I have. Thank you.

Thanksgiving always makes me think of Betty Bell. Aside from being

the mother to two of my high school friends, Mrs. Bell exemplified

graciousness and hospitality.

It seemed like Mrs. Bell was always in the kitchen. Not just

cooking but also reading, listening and ready to dispatch requested

advice, homework tutoring and world philosophy.

Mrs. Bell found us interesting and interested. We found her the

same. Her stay-at-home status was just a friendly front. She was a

world traveler, an intellectual, a comedienne and a surrogate parent

to the bevy of children her girls dragged through the front door.

I never spent a Thanksgiving with the Bells, but somehow I feel as

if I’ve spent many Thanksgivings at their house. There was a recipe

book open constantly, and there was always a lot of chatter. Their

family wasn’t big (it was just the parents and two daughters), but

the kitchen was full, and there was invariably a great deal of

sharing going on.

It wasn’t just food; the food was the least of it. There was more

sharing of the day’s news, boy/girl relationships, school happenings

and college aspirations. Basically, we solved most of the world’s

problems in that kitchen, although we didn’t always do a stellar job

with our own conundrums.

Occasionally I would find the kitchen empty, and I would get Mrs.

Bell to myself. I never wasted an opportunity like that. It was a

chance to ask questions or make observations without peer pressure.

At all times, Mrs. Bell gave a thoughtful answer.

After her girls and I graduated from high school, we dispersed to

different locales -- her girls to private universities, I to UCLA.

The Bell tradition of dragging “strays� home continued throughout

college and graduate school. Mrs. Bell eternally welcomed the motley

crews with open arms.

Her beloved recipe books remained open on the kitchen table. As we

got older, she would fix recipes from her travels abroad. In addition

to widening our food repertoire, our discussions became more

philosophical and politically centered. Mrs. Bell remained a good

listener and occasional referee.

After I graduated from college and moved to Costa Mesa, I would

occasionally receive a note from Mrs. Bell. The letters were always

very proper and full of praise. The notes were never solicited, just

random acts of kindness and encouragement: an unexpected gift in the

mailbox.

I was the first from her girls’ group of friends to get married,

and I made a point of getting Mrs. Bell’s “permission� to marry Ben.

I was the first to have children, and Mrs. Bell was the first person

outside of my immediate family to send her congratulations.

As I got older, Mrs. Bell would share her insights on her own life

experiences and her hopes and dreams, those fulfilled and those

broken. She became a confidant, less of a parent and more of a

friend. On an occasional afternoon when my children were small, she

would fix a cup of tea while I nursed a baby, and we would talk and

laugh and sometimes cry. They are some of my most treasured memories.

I began to realize that her hospitality was more about spiritual

nourishment. It was about respect: both mine for her and hers back.

As I became more competent in the kitchen, Mrs. Bell would

sometimes allow me to cook a meal. I considered that the highest

praise imaginable. When our families got together, sometimes she

cooked and sometimes I cooked, but it always felt like a Thanksgiving

meal.

We shared many meals and many conversations before she died in

1996. When her daughters were ready to sort through her life’s

treasures, they asked if I would like a keepsake of their mother. I

asked for a cookbook.

A few months later, I received their package. It was one of Mrs.

Bell’s favorite Junior League cookbooks. Ironically, it was also a

book that had been in my kitchen library and was one of my favorites

as well.

Her version was a little more worn, and I thumbed through and

stopped at the soiled pages. I read her notes written in the margins.

I felt the warm glow of recognition, not just in the words but also

from the mood created so many years ago in her kitchen.

As another holiday season approaches, I give thanks for Mrs.

Bell’s lessons in hospitality. I’ll try to carry the torch for the

next generation.

I hope the smiling faces that come to my kitchen remember good

times and thoughtful conversations.

I hope they can carry similar feelings of Thanksgiving with them

as they make their way through the highs and lows of their own lives.

And I look forward to someday sharing a cup of tea with them when

they’re older, giving thanks for my many blessings -- past, present

and future.

* KAREN WIGHT is a Newport Beach resident. Her column runs

Thursdays.