Grandma's Table
*Dedicated to my Grandmother Joan Kosmach*
Four legs. One solid-wood top with an extra leaf inserted to ensure everyone would fit. Eight chairs. One side faced a faded red-brick wall, the former outside of the house before the family expanded and so did the game room. The other side was backed by leafy green plants hanging in front of large windows that over looked the best backyard around. This table, Grandma's table, was the heart of our family.
It was at this table where I grew up. This table taught me to play Sorry, Park and Shop, and Uno. This table seated the audience as my cousins and I sang our renditions of classic Christmas carols from the small step up into the kitchen. This table developed my love of fresh, half-sliced grapefruit piled high with sugar, Corn Pops (no milk), and brussel sprouts-a food my own mother would never dare to cook.
The table told me stories of Slovenia, my family's hertiage, and let me watch as my grandmother rolled thin dough covered in cinnamon and finely crushed walnuts into a Poticia loaf. It also introduced me to my best friend. At Grandma's table I formed an unbreakable sisterly bond with my cousin,Stephanie, through time spent there eating Salerno butter cookies dunked into a watermelon glass full of milk, sharing crayons out of a silverish-gold metal box that had been colored on by someone older than us, and through listening to hear the creak of the gate outside that announced the arrival of Aunt Joni or Uncle Mark (time to have fun!)
Regardless of the occasion, Grandma's table was the family hub. Thanksgiving dinners with Grandma's stuffing piping hot. Christmas lunches with the infamous red and green pineapple jello. Friday night get togethers with thin crust pizza and cans of cream soda. Nothing beat time spent in a seat at that table.
The table held the family together. It helped Grandma balance checkbooks and hem pants. It housed the off-white and navy blue coffee carafes that kept the adults running. It held Grandpa's pills so that he wouldn't forget to take them. The table knew all of the family secrets. It saw it all: joy, tears, laughter, arguments, and celebrations. It heard every one of Grandpa's corny jokes (probably more than once). It listened as people reminisced about times passed. It watched as high chairs turned into booster chairs, booster chairs turned into big chairs, and big chairs turned into empty chairs.
Most importantly, the family table taught me about the meaning of true love. "Even though I'm getting remarried, your Grandmother will always be the love of my life," my Grandpa said as he sat across the table from me looking down at his folded hands. My Grandma had been gone for several years but his deep love for her resonated across the table, Grandma's table, that day.
Four legs. One solid-wood top with an extra leaf inserted to ensure everyone would fit. Eight chairs. The table may be gone, but the memories made at it will live on forever.
Two Writing Teachers: Slice of Life
Four legs. One solid-wood top with an extra leaf inserted to ensure everyone would fit. Eight chairs. One side faced a faded red-brick wall, the former outside of the house before the family expanded and so did the game room. The other side was backed by leafy green plants hanging in front of large windows that over looked the best backyard around. This table, Grandma's table, was the heart of our family.
It was at this table where I grew up. This table taught me to play Sorry, Park and Shop, and Uno. This table seated the audience as my cousins and I sang our renditions of classic Christmas carols from the small step up into the kitchen. This table developed my love of fresh, half-sliced grapefruit piled high with sugar, Corn Pops (no milk), and brussel sprouts-a food my own mother would never dare to cook.
The table told me stories of Slovenia, my family's hertiage, and let me watch as my grandmother rolled thin dough covered in cinnamon and finely crushed walnuts into a Poticia loaf. It also introduced me to my best friend. At Grandma's table I formed an unbreakable sisterly bond with my cousin,Stephanie, through time spent there eating Salerno butter cookies dunked into a watermelon glass full of milk, sharing crayons out of a silverish-gold metal box that had been colored on by someone older than us, and through listening to hear the creak of the gate outside that announced the arrival of Aunt Joni or Uncle Mark (time to have fun!)
Regardless of the occasion, Grandma's table was the family hub. Thanksgiving dinners with Grandma's stuffing piping hot. Christmas lunches with the infamous red and green pineapple jello. Friday night get togethers with thin crust pizza and cans of cream soda. Nothing beat time spent in a seat at that table.
The table held the family together. It helped Grandma balance checkbooks and hem pants. It housed the off-white and navy blue coffee carafes that kept the adults running. It held Grandpa's pills so that he wouldn't forget to take them. The table knew all of the family secrets. It saw it all: joy, tears, laughter, arguments, and celebrations. It heard every one of Grandpa's corny jokes (probably more than once). It listened as people reminisced about times passed. It watched as high chairs turned into booster chairs, booster chairs turned into big chairs, and big chairs turned into empty chairs.
Most importantly, the family table taught me about the meaning of true love. "Even though I'm getting remarried, your Grandmother will always be the love of my life," my Grandpa said as he sat across the table from me looking down at his folded hands. My Grandma had been gone for several years but his deep love for her resonated across the table, Grandma's table, that day.
Four legs. One solid-wood top with an extra leaf inserted to ensure everyone would fit. Eight chairs. The table may be gone, but the memories made at it will live on forever.
Two Writing Teachers: Slice of Life
"The table knew all of the family secrets." This is my favorite line. What wonderful stories rose from the planks of that table! It brought back some memories of my own grandparents' table.
ReplyDeleteThank you! That's one of my favorite lines too, it was one of the first that I wrote. There are so many more stories that could rise from that table, as I'm sure you have to with your own family. I want to capture them now as best I can so that I never forget and can pass them along to my own children.
DeleteIf your table could talk, it would speak of laughter and love, heartache and healing.
ReplyDeleteYes it would! It amazing how vividly those memories and emotions come flooding back even all these years later.
DeleteYour grandmother sounds like a force of love!
ReplyDeleteShe was indeed. I hope to be just like her someday :-)
DeleteI love this. My grandmother has been gone eleven years and it is still not easy since i was very close with her.
ReplyDeleteThank you. I was also very close with my grandmother even though she passed when I was still fairly young. I think though that she lives on through stories, such as this, told through our family. It's been 22 years and I still get teary eyed thinking about her. She was truly an amazing woman!
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