Shaking the Dinner Table

I love hearing my husband's family talk about their family table.  It's a round, oak antique table with mismatched chairs, which stretches to a giant oval for large gatherings. I guess it would literally gyrate, as those around it burst into laughter over delicious, nourishing meals prepared by my mother-in-law, Beth.

My husband, being the youngest child of four, remembers experiencing a bit of angst over not comprehending many of the jokes that inspired so much hilarity.  I recall countless card games, mounds of food, and being warmly invited into the circle of love and acceptance over these last 20 years at this illustrious table.

Beth eyed the table wistfully this past Thanksgiving.  She and her husband are preparing to move to a retirement community in Colorado next spring.  The table won't be coming with them;  it will be going to live with my brother-in-law, where it can be a hub of new memories.  

At my home, our family table is a big kitchen island.  We do have a nice Amish-made oak dining table, but it seems to be the landing pad for an archipelago of half-done projects and various items to sort and put away.  And it is more than a few steps from the stove, so there is the convenience factor.  So, the kitchen island is where we congregate for most meals. 

Last night at the island, the kids were lightheartedly listing ways I've recently embarrassed them.  What?  Moi?  What is wrong with reading a Scottish love poem with a proper Scottish accent in front of your friends in literature class?  Oh, you mean pointing out your blushing cheeks is what really embarrassed you?  Sorry!  

O my Luve's like a red, red rose, 

That's newly sprung in June: 

O my Luve's like the melodie, 

That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

(I sounded just like Sean Connery...or maybe Shrek. I was brilliant!)

Between bites of chicken burrito and homemade guacamole, I recounted ways THEY had embarrassed ME.  Let's see, do you know, young lady, that you once pointed at a man and loudly proclaimed, "I don't like his face!"  And do you, other young lady, remember bursting into tears at your 7th birthday party because you lost the game?   And young man, can you imagine how uncomfortable I felt when you first started experimenting with your hair gel and wearing skinny jeans and leather jackets?  I think I'll wear skinny jeans with boxers hanging out the top to our next literature class!  How about that, eh?!?

Back and forth we went, in a great feat of one-upsmanship.  The table would have been shaking had it not been bolted to the floor.  And someday, when I have to part ways with this beloved island of memories, I shall be wistful, too.

All great change in America begins at the dinner table.  -Ronald Reagan