Yesterday we had dinner at the dining room table. While that may not seem like a big deal, it was for us, because since June our beloved table was being repaired at the furniture shop. It’s absence made me realize how much I missed it, since it had been the scene of most Sunday dinners since 1967. Regardless of soccer games or crazy schedules, we always found time for Sunday dinner at the dining room table. Of course as the years went by, the kids left and came back and sometimes stayed awhile. Then they got married and had children of their own.
Yesterday I set the table for just two and recalled all the times I had done so for so many more. Now with five grandchildren, I never know for sure when to set the table for more than two; but I am always ready. As I cleared the table after dinner, I remembered decades of Sundays and holidays; family conversations (some more lively than others) and the loving wear and tear we foisted on that weathered table.
Now that it has been repaired, and a lifetime of scratches have been sanded smooth and refinished, I like to think that our story – the history of our family – is somehow still retained deep within the lovely wood grains of our dining room table. As foolish as this may seem, this is a sonnet dedicated to our dining room table:
The table’s set, it’s Sunday, after all,
Though when the kids were young I set for four,
Come rain or shine our clan answered the call,
And afterwards all joined in clean-up chores.
Then came the college years, yet even more
We kept our dining ritual intact,
We knew they’d all return someday for sure,
To homey kitchen wafts that drew them back.
The years flew by but I could never slack,
For married then, they came to Sunday dine,
Insert the leaf and placemats to unpack,
Our numbers grew to six, then eight, then nine.
Eleven, twelve and more this table’s seen,
Our story lives within the fine wood grain
Love this post, so true, so many memories. The best memories , are always at the dining room table, from the time we were kids, and then parents and grandparents. We love the dining room table and all the memories made there. The joy the grand kids have at the table. They love it so much too. It’s a tradition. A lot don’t have. So glad we do. The squeals of delight when they see the table set. You as always make me think and remember. Thanks for that
Yes… and I am thankful that you, too, share the same dining room table experiences – you were a part of many of mine, as I yours. Mom and Dad gave us that gift, and all were welcomed! I think our grandchildren will remember the times when we couldn’t stop laughing until we were crying, or when we insisted that they take turns saying grace, or when we just played “I spy with my little eye…”. At the table everyone is an equal and everyone is talking all at once or not at all. It’s all ok at Grandma’s Dining Room table. Love you!