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There is something very good about suppertime. Suppertime is more than just a time to eat- it is warm with happy memories. A few sunny hours to run barefoot after school, a time of homecoming and hearing what everyone else did during the day. Suppertime means watching Grandmother make "digalvnhi", Cherokee grape dumplings, and hearing her sing as she worked. A day, a time, an hour never stands on its own but is bolstered by all those hours that have gone before. Nothing is ever lost--not even the simplest things--for time enhances what has been dear to us. We tend to look back and think something no longer exists. But it does, in all the lovely hours that wait for us--like suppertime--like singing in the kitchen and warm bread baking. This is not just memory, it is sharing life.


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