... would probably join me on the trip home from this visit to my (late) parents' house.
We said goodbye to Papa last December.
After about a year battling with melanoma, he had finally succumbed to his body's limitation not long before Christmas. Since then, my parents' little house had lain empty except for the housekeeper coming to clean everyday. With Kecil out of school for the time being, we are finally getting an opportunity to clean my parents' personal effects and get the house ready for its next use.
Which brought me to the glass butter dish.
For as long as I can remember, Papa had always had bread for breakfast at home.
Not just any kind of bread. We had this sandwich maker thing that makes triangular hot sandwiches, and usually his would be filled with butter, sugar and cheese.
Up to the days when he got sick, this combination was still his staple for breakfast.
Through the years he went through different kinds of bread, different kinds of cheese, but there is always the butter. Perhaps not always the same brand, but always, butter, the slightly salted one.
It's funny how he sticks to butter all those years when margarine was a more popular alternative (not to mention more affordable and accessible).
Somehow I don't think it was a real health concern as much as it was about the taste and texture.
He even got it back in the days when we were still living in the boonies before the age of big supermarkets everywhere. It must have been one of my parents main objectives during their monthly trip to Jakarta, as told by my nanny.
Another thing I notice about the butter for Papa's breakfast was that it was always beautifully soft and spreadable at the breakfast table. No too soft it was messy, but just enough for it to be spreadable.
I plead guilty of demolishing God-knows how many slices of bread just with that beautiful butter. It's simply so good. Soft salted butter. Goodness me.
And for the longest time, I was not quite sure how he did it. I figured... maybe the household staff did it? Took out the butter when they woke up early so it would be nice and soft by breakfast time?
It was only during my penultimate stay at the tiny house with Daddy that I finally figured out that when he woke up in the early hours to pee, he would also go to the fridge to take out the butter.
Daddy and his butter. Sigh.
The glass butter dish only appeared at the table quite late. In the early days, I think I remembered a plastic dish set, complete with its own butter knife. The glass one does not have a knife, but it sure is easier to clean and classier than the plastic one.
I am not too sure of its place in Dad's universe, that butter dish. I don't even know if it was a gift, or if Mom bought it for Dad or what.
But these I know for sure.
This daughter, also love her butter, and so, the dish would definitely get some use with me.
And while it goes on being useful, it will remind me of Dad.
Daddy and his breakfast
Daddy and his butter
Papa.
Be well, Papa.
