Leftovers

They think I show up for the food. Completely understandable. I am not known for my skills in the kitchen and #1 son is a better than average cook, but it’s actually the kitchen table that draws me.

I grew up at the kitchen table. It’s part of my history, part of who I am. Food, friends, work, play – it all happened at the kitchen table. My family was shaped at the kitchen table.

The boys all come together for supper. The phones are put to one side and they sit – not just to eat – but to laugh, to fight, to share stories about their day, to make observations on life.

I feel them move away from me as they grow older. Not unexpected – it’s the natural order of things I believe – but still, I miss the little guys who cuddled close and shared pretty much everything with their Grammy. The kitchen table is where I go to hold onto them just a little bit longer, to still be part of their lives. That’s why I show up.

And on the rare occasion there are leftovers, I get a package to take home for tomorrow’s lunch. Twice loved!

… if you were to be as silly as me and ponder the value of your kitchen table, would they be good thoughts?

Close the door for now … you can always open it again later

During Christmas, Little Bear spent a couple nights with me. When he came to my room and crawled in beside me, I didn’t question why. I am always happy for his company, always wonder if this will be the last time he needs me … so I cherish his presence. Sometimes we chat. That night it was late. We settled down quickly. He asked me to close the door.

I can’t sleep with the door closed.

Well, I can’t sleep with it open. If it’s closed, nothing can get in.

So I closed the door. Funny though, I like to sleep with the door open so I can see what’s coming.

Open door … closed door. Wonder what that says about us. How about you? Do you sleep with your door open? Or do you sleep with your door closed?

Random thoughts.