Kate Kingsbury | Summers Past

Many years ago in my distant past, when I was still living on the southeast
coast of England, I spent four memorable summers working for my mother in her
small seaside hotel. I laid, waited on and cleared dining tables, cleaned
rooms, welcomed guests and hauled heavy luggage up two flights of stairs since
we had no elevator. It was hard physical work and long hours, made even longer
by my mother’s insistence that I entertain the guests on the piano when all the
chores were finally done. All I received for my pains were room and board, and
tips that were few and far between. A poor return for the efforts I put in. At
least, that’s how it seemed at the time, when I was stumbling exhausted to my
bed, only to rise a few hours later and do it all over again.