Kitchen table memories
My wife and I had dinner at my parents last week.
A friend called earlier in the day and told me to enjoy the meal that stirs memories.
She was right.
That meal did stir memories.
The kitchen table was the place to be in my family.
We had our meals around it.
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. No TV trays for us.
We played games on it and during times of crisis we gathered around it and comforted one another.
Looking at my mother last week, still cooking at the oven and arranging the table, memories came flooding back to me.
Memories of a young mom, calling her two boys in for a lunch of bologna sandwiches and chips.
Memories of doing my homework after the table had been cleared.
I can still see the bowls full of mashed potatoes and green beans. Still remember the color and design of those bowls.
It wasnít just my immediate family.
My aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents were all kitchen table folk.
My Grandpa Dorris lived with us and I can picture him sitting at that kitchen table, cigarette in hand, listening to the Admiral radio on top of the fridge.
That radio sat next to a ceramic rabbit cookie jar that has been in my family since the forties.
That cookie jar now sits on top of my refrigerator.
I treasure it and the memories it brings every time I look at it. Lots of beloved hands went in that cookie jar.
Many memories around that kitchen table.
Aunt Bernice and her pies, Aunt Louise and her salads, anything Aunt Mae made, and of course my mamaís cooking.
When I get to heaven, Iím going to search for that table, because Iíll bet you thatís where Iím going to find my family, my loved ones.
Waiting there, smiling, telling me to pull up a chair, and make more memories.
If I know my family, thereíll be food as well.
Iím so looking forward to it.
See you out there.