My Grandma’s Table

A couple of months ago, I got a text from my cousin asking if I had any interest in a kitchen table. But not just any table – my grandparent’s table that was part of the family for close to 70 years. It’s a 1950’s era table, red top with silver chrome trim (that needs a little cleaning up), and 6 matching chairs. It doesn’t really “fit” the theme or look of our kitchen (which is more 1980’s semi-boring brown), but I only hesitated for one second before replying, YES!

My grandmother’s kitchen table was truly the heart of her home, and on it she served her enchiladas, her roasts, her potato salads, green salads, vegetables, yummy leftover turkey sandwiches with wheat bread, olives, apple pies and pumpkin pies, and coffee… there was always a cup of coffee on that table. The coffee was sometimes cold because my grandmother was always moving and busy, and might forget about it – but she’d just refill and keep going when she remembered.

When I sit now at the table in MY kitchen and close my eyes, I can revisit my childhood days when my grandpa sat at the head of the table. For meals, there was only enough room around the table for the adults in the family, if all 17 or so of us were there at the same time. The kids would gather round with plates and fill them up and eat elsewhere. As the oldest grandchild, I occasionally got to sit at the table with the adults if someone was missing. My grandpa passed away when I was 16, so for all the holiday visits after that, there was usually room at the table for me.

My grandma didn’t just use the table as a place to serve meals, but it was also her office/desk. She would pull the phone off her nearby phone stand and settle in at the table to make calls. During the summers when we would stay with her, I can remember her making her “Shaklee calls”, and I’d get excited knowing we were going to head to the city to deliver product AND grab a hamburger and milk shake. And on Saturdays, she’d sit at the table again with the phone, and make calls to see who might be coming to church on Sunday. She checked in with “her ladies” to see if anyone needed a ride, and always made sure to invite anyone she could think of for those Sundays where they’d be having a potluck. She was a doodler, so she’d draw and write numbers and doodle while talking… often for a couple hours at a time through multiple phone calls.

It was while sitting on the couch right near that table that I observed that my grandmother never had one bad word to say about anyone. Sometime those phone calls included a little gossip from others about this person or that. Grandma might later share the stories, but even if there were actually “bad things” she could have said about someone, instead she gave them the benefit of the doubt and said something good. No matter how hard life was, how badly someone messed up, how sad the situation – she could and would look for the positive.

This 1950’s red table was a fixture in my grandparent’s home through decades of family meals, game nights playing zilch, loud stories, laughter, anger, ridiculous jokes, heartache, loneliness, family dysfunction… and love. Every time I walk into my kitchen now, seeing it brings a smile to my face (and often a tear to my eye). I have begun sitting in the same spot my grandpa did when I eat my breakfast and lunch. And whenever I run my hand across the smooth red top and close my eyes, I connect for just a moment with those who are now gone. What a treasure!