TEA TOAST AND BREAKFAST IN BED

It was a huge thing, stuck on top of my grandmother's secretary. Neither really belong in a bedroom but space in our story and a half being at a premium, and I the preservationist extraordinaire, leave little choice. It is a huge gray aluminum tray; tole-hand painted with lemon-yellow flowers, no particular genre. Bright with orangy-red centers. In my sisters and my growing up years, it came out of hiding, rather predictably at every recovery from flu or childhood diseases. Often it was the first sign that a doctor would be called to the house, and no, you wouldn't be going to school.
Wobbly, since it was circular and had no fold-out legs, it balanced precariously on top of the bedcovers, offering, as hot dishes conducted their heat through the metal, additional warmth to the recovering child.
Predictable as well were it's offerings. It began with tea, Lipton of course, it's orange tinged waters betraying the actual flavors, as no sugar would be offered. Tea, to see if you'd "keep it down". Then dry toast. so dark it looked like it would break before it reached your mouth.
The morning the tray held milque-toast you were assured that later, a simple toy or book might be brought and you'd be sitting up amonst a mound of pillows; that is if you ate the soggy crumb infested mixture, and "kept it down". By the time a baked potato, ginger ale and jello were served, your time to play amonst the blankets was numbered.
By then, it was a treat to move to the living room where you could recouperate on the davenport and watch a little TV.
Such were the days of recovery in the 1950's. I miss them. But I still have the tray.