I was challenged by the Memoir Mondays prompt at Two Writing Teachers. Write about memories at a beloved eatery, they said. I knew immediately the spot to describe.
There is a place I have been eating for years… and the memories are as varied as the foods.
My dining room table.
My dining room table is why I learned to cook. Six people waited there to see what I had to bring to the table. Together we taught our tongues to try new cuisines, new animals, new textures. We filled our bellies with Thanksgiving turkey, Christmas chili and Fourth of July baked beans. We built a repertoire of “remember when” stories over Mexican Beef Rice, pumpkin soup, and cherry cream pie.
At my dining room table we endured soon-to-be ex-boyfriends, evaluated future sons/daughters-in-law, and strengthened new and old friendships. We entertained Marine buddies that we would never see again. We fed neighbors that wouldn’t go away!
Around my dining room table we have celebrated birthdays for family members from four generations, and mourned the loss of my brother, my father and my son.
On every occasion, upon being seated, we joined hands and the gathered circle bowed heads while my husband thanked God, who provided food for our bodies, and salvation for our souls.
I love my dining room table.
Blessed is every one that feareth the Lord; that walketh in his ways. For thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands: happy shalt thou be, and it shall be well with thee. Psalm 128:1,2
