The Kitchen Table

Most of this post is a re-post of an earlier post but K is still for kitchen at our house so...


The kitchen has always been a gathering place for my family for as long as I can remember. The women in our family have probably spent over half of their lives in their kitchens and I am no different. I spent countless hours conversing with my grandmother as she prepared meal after meal- three meals/day seven days/week and while she baked cakes and breads from scratch. I also enjoyed listening to her sing while she worked in the kitchen. Our family ate all of our meals at the kitchen table and, if someone had football practice or a meeting, we waited for them to get home and we ate together. Meals at the table with everyone around are the only kind I have ever known (and not just during the holidays) so it is no surprise that I would continue this tradition with my own kids. Certainly, our kitchen table saw thousands of meals over the years. Sometimes we were even a bit creative with our meals- candlelight dinners; no manners night; dessert first night; etc. However, saying our table only satisfied family time during meals would diminish the importance and quality of the times our family shared while sitting there together.  

   

Our kitchen table provided space for creating school projects; gingerbread houses; Christmas cookies; Easter eggs; colorful artwork. The lovelies also studied and read books there. Many a game of telephone has been played at the table as well as hundreds of hours of playing board games, card games, and putting together jigsaw puzzles. The laughter still resounds if you listen carefully. This table has seen more than anyone’s fair share of girl talk, both serious and silly- the sharing of the deepest secrets and fears that young girls harbor as well as the silly thoughts and stories of a day in the life. Our kitchen table has witnessed the tears and anger brought on by disagreements as well as the tears, hugs, understanding, and smiles the resolutions brought.  It heard the intense discussions of the injustices of the world and the ways to make changes. It heard me telling my girls they could be anything in the world they wanted to be. The table has been the meeting place for friends both young and old as each of their friends sat and discussed their lives with me as well. How amazing it was to know their friends almost as well as I knew my own girls. They all knew that there was no judge or jury at the table, only listening and an attempt to understand.  

 The kitchen table is still a meeting place for my girls and myself and it remains our center when everyone comes home as it stirs past memories, and encourages the sharing of present goals and future dreams. And those games and all that laughter? Yep, it still takes place right at the kitchen table. 

The biggest, and best, difference is now I get to share our kitchen table with my grandbabies. How wonderful as small as our house is there is always room at the kitchen table especially for these two--

Yes, she's in the high chair because she recently
rediscovered it and she loves it and I have no idea
as to why other than, she's a two-year-old.

I'm already having tea at the table with this one. 

Sometimes we bake brownies and have them with milk in moose cups. 

K is for kitchen table. 

AND---

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Kitchen

My grandmother was an artist in the kitchen. When she was creating a work of art, whether is was as simple as breakfast or as elaborate as her fresh, organic, six layer coconut cakes, she donned her smock (an old, worn out, plaid shirt of Granddaddy's on which you could see her darning stitches if you looked closely enough) and an old pair of cotton ankle pants the color of the summer sky and set about her work.

The white flour would end up everywhere. It would be all over her clothes, in her hair and on her face. Her red speckled counter-tops were covered in patches where bits of her paints- the ingredients for her creation- had dripped off the spatula or out of the often neglected measuring cup. Not even the floor was spared from her creative mess.

Every single time, Grandmother's creations turned out perfectly. To the eye, they were beautiful; the smell made your mouth water; and the taste was a pure delight to our tongues and fulfilling not only to our bellies but to our souls.

I sorely miss all those times spent with Grandmother in her kitchen. She sang and chatted away every step of the way. I remember those special times and her words. But, somehow, the magic she worked in her kitchen evaded me. Or did it?

While I might not be near the artist she was in the kitchen, I did receive understanding of the importance of the kitchen. A place for sharing words of wisdom. A place for singing. A place for telling secrets. A place for spending invaluable time with those we love. A place that continues to do these things and more in our kitchen.


FYI: My 'L' post will be late. It's wedding weekend so y'all probably won't see it until Sunday. Sorry in advance!

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