The wonder of a kitchen table

Anyone who has been to my dad's parents' home is familiar with the wonder that is the kitchen table. There's gotten to be a ritual for any visit to their home: if you were to show up one evening, you would enter the house through the garage-- the door would have been waiting open for you so you could walk straight in-- and step into the kitchen where my Grandpa would always be stirring the pot of soup that he'd put on earlier in the evening in anticipation of your arrival. After exchanging greetings and carrying your bag in, you'd take a spot at The Kitchen Table, where the evening would begin-- regardless of what time you arrived (often, for us, close to or way past midnight).

I'm not really sure what it is about this table that invites conversation, but I do know that once you're sitting there, anything and everything is fair game. I've sat at that table countless times and talked about my college classes, moving to England and then back to the States and then to Philly and then to Brooklyn, friends, politics, boys, God, career options, the family..... everything, really. Eventually everyone would get tired and head to bed, but Grandma would still be ready to talk-- she turned 93 in June, but she still stays up later than any of us! I learned quickly to stay up with her, because those one-on-one times are some of the best conversations I've ever had. She'd listen to me process through stuff and then challenge my assumptions and encourage me not to settle for anything less than the best. She believes and lives like "to whom much is given, much shall be required" actually applies to all areas of life. And so, she pushes us to use each strength to its fullest potential. Grandma was the #1 motivating influence for why I went to grad school in England after college.

Tonight I walked in through the garage door, and Grandma was the one stirring the soup. I'll admit I got nervous for a moment when Grandma and I sat down at the kitchen table-- It's so different without Grandpa here; it still feels so strange. But only for a moment. Because soon it was just like old times and I was telling Grandma all about Brooklyn and Alice's and getting her advice about life.

My favorite Erie memories take place around that kitchen table. I've come to cherish the conversations with my grandma when I can ask her about life and love and whatever else is weighing heavily on my mind. But I also wouldn't trade the memories of the whole family squeezed around that table. Anyone who walks through that door-- whether it's a neighbor or an aide for my disabled uncle or other family that lives in town-- is welcomed and invited to join the group at the table. It often gets cozy, but no one would think of complaining. Sure, we could move into the dining room where there's more room; but I think everyone knows there's something special about that kitchen table.