Come to the Table

     In our sweet home, on of my favorite places is our kitchen table. I sit here often thinking of the day I just experienced, or planning the days ahead. There is glue on it from the countless hours Ian spent there laboring over the tiny, important details that are required of fly tying. There are Cooking Light magazine, bills to be paid, and whatever I'm reading spread across the top. Depending on which chair you sit in, you can see a fair amount of the place we call home. 

      My favorite chair is the one Ian sits in for dinner but I always steal for breakfast. There's a view of our kitchen where I often catch myself smiling at Ian's shed antler finds mixed among my Anthropologie purchases. It's a constant reminder of our individual personalities find their way into our life as husband and wife. If you look out our back door, you can see our little tree in the back yard. We planted it after buying our house and you can rest assured I will be carving our initials in it before we move out. You can also see our living room, where so much reading happens. There's more books, more fly fishing stuff, more antlers, and pictures of our life. I see the blanket my Beppe knit for me and mailed to England with a card that said she was praying I would never give up even though she knew how hard that season of life was for me. I see that blanket and suddenly am transported to the seaside in Folkestone where I would bring it to keep me warm while I prayed and watched the sea. I see it and think how lucky I am to be her granddaughter and live my days with her legacy at the forefront of my mind. I look at the pictures on the wall that were taken on a fire that Ian fought. They remind me to pray, and never taken my husband's life for granted. 

     It isn't just what I can see from the table, though, that captivates me. It's what happens there. Up until a few months ago when Ian built himself a massive desk, he tied flies at the kitchen table. I loved the nights I sat on the couch with a book or the tv keeping me company while I sat and watched this brilliant man make tiny insects attached to fishing hooks with such concentration. I love eating dinner together at the table, recapping our day, planning the future and just being together. I love writing at this table because so much of what inspires me is right in front of me. I feel brave and safe here. I pay bills and make grocery lists here, so it's also a reminder of my responsibilities as a wife. It's where I sit when I FaceTime friends from around the world, cup of tea in hand, feeling like they are right there with me. It's where we eat with our friends and actually *talk* to them rather than communicating through mobile devices and social media. My table is such a happy place. 

     Someday our table will host a few more place settings as our family expands. Chances are, a little one will scratch their name into the wood. It will be where battles of will are tested when someone doesn't want to eat something from dinner. It will be the center for many creative afternoon hours spent building with marshmallows and toothpicks. Or painting masterpieces that will be forced upon family members to be displayed on refrigerators. Lots of learning will happen here, homework is almost always easier with a snack. There will probably always be books on it. I'm sure I will be cleaning up dried guacamole and orange juice, wishing for the days that I only had Ian and I to clean up after. I hope, though, that our table is always a place to connect as a family. A place where we are creative and so happy when we are there. 

     I love our table and how it provides a space for connection. I have planned, laugh and grown so much from my seat. The opportunities my table gives me for memory making are innumerable. I hope hope I always go back to the table to be reminded of how rich my life truly is. 

"...Indeed, he would have brought you out of dire distress, into a broad place where there is no restraint; And what is set on your table would be full of richness." Job 36:16