Memories of the House That Built Me

It's funny the things you remember as you look back. I can remember my Grandmother's kitchen table. There was one in the dining room but I never really sat at it for meals. We always ate in the kitchen. In the center of that kitchen table was a big ceramic chicken...yes, chicken. It was in two pieces and when you lifter the top half, it opened to any manner of things. I remember mail being stuffed inside the big chicken. There were envelopes in there that had never been opened, still, she knew what was inside each one. From time to time I can remember her digging through there swearing because she knew, the paper she wanted was inside. The table wouldn't look like anything special to anyone but family though. It was just another farmhouse kitchen table. That sturdy, wooden table was where we ate breakfast, lunch and dinner. My Grandfather would land in his seat at the table before going anywhere else in the house.

It's the little details though that make the table special. Like sitting with my Grandmother while she snapped beans. Or sitting there in timeout when I'd gotten in trouble and I always managed to find trouble. There were many nights I remember sitting at that table with a cup of water after a bad dream. Most of all though, it was under that table that I got my first kiss, if you can call it that. I was 5 years old and had spent too many nap times watching Soaps with Grandma instead of napping. The things a 5 year old picks up would amaze anyone. The little boy my age did the same thing. Now that we were in Kindergarten, we didn't have to nap, so we watched Soaps. It was those Soaps that taught us about Drive In movies and what you did at a drive in. So, there we sat, under the table, pretending we were in a car at the drive in. He leaned over and kissed me and that's when we heard my Grandmother get up out of her chair. Even though a wall seperated us from her in the living room, we were sure she had seen us. I don't know if we'd ever moved faster. He hit his head on the table trying to get up and I got in trouble because she thought I'd pushed him into it. So, there I sat once again, at time out, at that kitchen table.

Like I said, it's the little things. There are so many little things, that I couldn't put them all in one post or I'd have a novel.