Remembering Millie's Kitchen 2 Weeks Before My 44th Birthday

For 42 years, I celebrated my birthday with my father on December 24—a tradition established at birth. Having a birthday on Christmas Eve can offer its spells of loneliness, but sharing the special day with my dad made it all the merrier.

The other day, I was lifting items off my handmade hope chest when reminded of our family tradition of going to my Uncle Roberts, my godfather, and Auntie Birgitta's home on Christmas Eve. My Uncle Robert would make me gifts with his skilled hands and generous heart, and on my 14th birthday, he surprised me with a magnificent hope chest made of wood and lined with cedar.

As I moved framed photos of my dad and me, a picture taken on our birthday at the tiny tucked-away diner of beloved Millie's Kitchen in Lafayette landed at my feet.

My dad was sporting a festive Santa red V-neck cardigan and a bushy gray beard and mustache. Our foreheads glowed, and signature eyebrows and smiles shaped our beaming bright eyes and rosy cheeks.

Established in 1965, Millie's Kitchen, a Lamorinda icon with lengthy lines on the weekends, served traditional American-style dishes and classic crumb coffee cake made the old-fashioned way.

For years, we would arrive early to wait in the crisp morning air scented in anticipation as the aromas of fried bacon, brewed coffee, and brown sugar and cinnamon seduced our mouths and bellies.

The charming décor didn't deviate much from the 1960's. The exterior was wrapped in creamed stucco and garlanded in sage trim. The inside consisted of tight corners, double dining rooms crowded with two, four, and six top tables, a modest kitchen, a narrow hallway, and a single restroom.

The walls dressed in wallpaper made of miniature pastel-painted floret bouquets with twinkle lights bordering the ceiling. Crooked frames with black and white photos, best diner awards, and a collection of keepsake coffee mugs hung on display.

The same servers stayed steady year after year. The ambiance was intimate and fragrant, with breakfast sausage, onions, and eggs popping on the flattop grill, connection, and happiness.

My annual brunch lineup included a vegetarian egg white scramble with bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, avocado, and Jack cheese, extra crispy homemade potato hash topped with ketchup and Tabasco, and dry sourdough toast. Washed down with a side of creamed coffee served in their trademark thick white ceramic mugs, Millie's Kitchen stenciled in maroon on the exterior, and a side of Millie's famous rich yellow cake crowned with brown sugar crumble, melted butter, and a single candle commemorating a birthday chorus sung to two.

The tradition of going to Millie's ended six years ago, and the original Millie's Kitchen closed its doors in 2021. It was a stable staple in the hearts of many and held some of my most cherished memories with my dad, mom, Joe, godmother, and her husband.

The death of my dad and Jax has swept me out to a sea of sorrow with no lifeboat, no raft, and a convincing awareness of the cost of living and loving. It has opened up new and beautiful traditions and rituals.

Still, I can't help but miss them more today than I did yesterday and the generous way my father would lend his wishes as I blew out our birthday candles.

As I enter my 44th birthday, the second season of the holidays, and my life without them, I want to carry on timeworn traditions and create new ones.

I will light a candle, pray, talk to my dad, and tell him how much I love him. I will take relief in solitude and nature. I will eat toasted everything bagels with whipped cream cheese with my husband, mom, Joe, godmother, and her husband. I will cry as I wear a smile on my heart. I will blow out the candles, knowing he is behind me every step of the way.

Traditions ground us in times of transition, and in times of certainty, they bind us to the ones who have passed and those who are present. They are tokens of time that bless our bodies with sorrow and bliss.

Death is our final dance on this earth, and the tradition of grief carries forward with the ones left behind. You can't slow down the waves, but you can touch traditions that warm your spirit when the ones you love are gone and the void in your heart is hollow. You can learn to savor salty tears and the sweetness of moist cinnamon coffee crumb cake.

Dina is a Walnut Creek resident. In her newsletter, Through the Lens, she writes about yoga, mindfulness, love, loss, and the human experience.

Explore Dina’s coaching services and classes at https://www.dinavarellas.com.