How could anyone have known the significance of an aging old table with a warp
in the middle? A scarred weathered plank, with a sag she had tried to hide with
a checkered cloth. Those of us who sat, night after night
connecting with eyes, with ears, with laughter and tears,
..decades and years spent, over string beans, and mashed potatoes,
bridging the gap of a mid-day mishap, or a chat after school, or a new family rule.
Resurrecting a family, at the end of the day, while chomping away on unidentifiable
casseroles, that filled the belly, as well as the soul. Consuming tidbits of noodles,
and wisdom and the comfort of being together. Who would have noticed, one shabby antique, that had witnessed crayon marks, had weathered spilled milk,
even 3 small holes from father repairing a picture frame,
when he accidently hammered nails all the way through and into its well worn top,
and mother almost blew hers through the roof?
Who could know that a weathered old piece of grainy oak
could be the glory...a story... of love?
For the contest: "Ordinary" sponsored by
Black Eyed Susan