This is our kitchen table:
It’s simple and beautiful and – here’s why it’s special – it used to belong to Dale’s grandmother. This is the table that Dale’s dad grew up with and by some stroke of luck it wound up with us.
I truly love it. I remember when we were doing the kitchen over and Dale asked me if I wanted to get a new table. I thought he was kidding as it never would occur to me that we would get rid of it.
The wood is worn and gouged. There are marks from where Dale’s Swedish grandmother set down the ever-present coffee pot.
There’s even a mark from a night when Sharon and I, drinking perhaps too much wine, dyed some yarn and left a stain on the table.
Yes, it’s scarred and stained and burned. But it’s where my family sits down to dinner every night. It’s where I roll out pie crust and decorate cupcakes. It’s where Hannah did her homework when she was little and it’s where Dale rolls countless Swedish meatballs every Christmas. And as we do all those things we remember that those same things were done by generations before us.
This table is a part of our family and I can’t imagine our kitchen without it.