This past Saturday night I found myself once again in Grandma Miller's kitchen, surrounded by my family, listening to all the stories and laughter that resulted from them. There were more comfortable seats just feet away in the family room...but there we were after dinner just sitting and enjoying the time together as a family...around the kitchen table.
Today, in the middle of my kitchen, I was thinking that something was lost once the "formal" dining room fad caught on in American homes...especially those with walls all around and only one little door to connect to the heart of the home (aka: the kitchen). Growing up everything that was happening was happening at/on/around the kitchen table. There was always room for one more somehow. Playing games, cleaning garden veggies, making/eating food, visiting, homework, folding laundry, and loads of other things as well...I learned how to cook at Grandma's and Mom's kitchen tables.
In the Happy House, my new life in GA seemed like normal because our dining room was also the kitchen...just like Grandma's and Mom's. It felt like home. It was a hub of activity day and night and I loved it. The kitchen/dinging room was a rectangle and my little portable island was what separated the two spaces...and, at the same time, connected them. It was a nice way to transition to a new life...a little of the familiar in the new.
With all of today's new ways of communicating, I still like the old fashioned table talk.
Life's load gets a little lighter around the kitchen table.