Musings on the Kitchen Table

Last night, Mama's kitchen table was sold and taken from it's spot.  Here she presided and provided hospitality to all who came to her home.  Here was the first stop when I came to live in Hamilton, chatting as we would for thirteen years.  Here she gave of her self in love.  Here she created a community.  Here she served.  She always served.  The tragedy is she was going to get soup for her guests when she fell. 

I thought as they were taking it away how like a Christian altar it is.  Of course it is.  No one could deny that.  Then I thought how like a side altar it was.  Side altars often get more use in the West, as they are smaller and more intimate.  My dad said Mass everyday on the side altar in Ionia, Michigan. The kitchen table was were we heard the news, and the stories that bound us together as a family.