Thanksgiving is within a few days. I am thankful for so much. I have to say the people who surround my mother’s dining room table are my most favorite blessings.
My mother loved her dining room furniture. It took up a room in our little house that could have been used for something else, but Mama loved it. My daddy was a manager of a construction company, and he kept his important papers and stuff in the cabinet over the fridge. Nothing could mess up the dining room. It was funny that we never ate in there. Well, only a couple of times a year, and even then, there were three of us.
Most holidays we went to my grandmother’s house. She had a huge kitchen table, no dining room. I liked that the food was on the counter tops and buffet table. You could tell she had cooked in there. There were too many of us to sit at one table at Granny’s house.
As a small child I remember playing under Mama’s dining room table. The hardwood floor under it was so shiny you could almost see your reflection. Some times I hid in the chairs behind the lace tablecloth until Mama would notice I was missing. Otherwise, the table was reserved for Mama’s divinity candy and special occasion flowers. Seemed kind of useless to me then; it was alright, but I would have given it up for a little brother any day.
I am very practical when it comes to furniture. When my mother went into assisted living, I needed to rent her house. I knew she would never recover if anyone told her I’d stuffed her beloved furniture into the storage house so I did the next worse thing. I brought it into my house. I had to break it to her gently before she came over and actually saw it. The rule in my house is, if it isn’t useful or beautiful it needs to live somewhere else. That applies double for people (I kid). We have too many warm bodies in this place to have an entire room of furniture that is going to be treated as a museum exhibit.
The first thing I did was cover the table with a thick felt and plastic padding. I mean, let’s face it, decoupage is going to happen in the house – so is the hot glue gun. I couldn’t chance Mama coming over and peeking under the tablecloth and seeing the damage from our never ending art projects. Of course, crafty me covered the chair cushions with something fun. Yeah, Mama nearly had a stroke over my wild colorful stripes but I assured her that her traditional fabric was still safe under my mess. She seemed to be comforted by that.
In reality, I didn’t want the furniture in the first place. My cousin was supposed to get it. Mama promised him. He didn’t have any need for it so I did what I could. It has become a part of our day-to -day reality. The two crazy looking lamps that belonged to my granny fit right in on the buffet table. I am practical and adaptable.
Now that my mother has gone to heaven I figure she isn’t too concerned about her dining room furniture. We will think about her and her dressing and divinity when we sit down to eat our Thanksgiving dinner.
I’m sure a grandchild or two will probably play hide and seek under it after we’re done. I hope so anyway.
God bless you all this Thanksgiving.
Angie Brown is a humorist who loves being a wife, mother and grandmother. She lives in Opelika with her husband of 31 years and four of their seven children.