The first Monday of each month, my aunt hosts a dinner. Six o’clock sharp, thirteen of us crowd around a table decked out in its finest–vintage china and linens, glassware and silverware. We feast upon bowls of piping hot soup and fresh baked bread; we sip vats of tea.
We’re ladies of all ages, from all walks of life. We’re drawn together by the love of a certain woman–and the love of laughter.
Many of us met around that table; we continue to get to know one another around that table. And as much as I may grumble at having plans on a Monday evening, I quite love the opportunity to meet people I otherwise would have never met.
And I do love a well dressed table.
Speaking of which, a friend commented on trying to dine, downtown, on a Thursday night. All the restaurants were packed–even the sub-par establishments. All except for a favorite. They walked in to find empty tables; all the diners present boasted hair bleached with age. The city, it seemed, bustled all around this place. She was appalled. I was appalled. We couldn’t understand it. Then another friend piped in. “It’s the tablecloths,” she said. “The crisp, white linens attract a certain demographic.”
Perhaps she’s right. If so, it makes me a bit sad; but it also makes me thankful . . .
I’m thankful growing up linens were always a part of setting a table for those you love. I’m thankful in college I had friends who felt the same–even when we were covering little more than a card table.
As a matter of fact, a friend once gave the best advice she ever received: “There are certain things you should never give up. These include sitting down to a table, complete with tablecloth and candles, even if you’re the only one eating and old crates make up your table.”
In other words, make an effort to make little moments grand. There are a million reasons to do so–say, for instance, it’s Tuesday and you can!