The First Stories

When my “Granny”, as I refer to her, moved to her home in Georgia, she was adamant that she have one thing in particular in her new home.  She’d raised 5 children, and when they all came over with their families, she wanted a kitchen table long enough to seat them all. This resulted in a 25-foot-long countertop with seating on both sides.  At Thanksgiving and when family members visited from out of town, that table was covered with food and everyone ate and sat for hours telling stories until it was time to eat again.

I am pretty sure a large part of my identity was shaped from all the hours of listening to those stories and from being welcomed into the circle to tell my own.  At the time, it didn’t seem very earth shattering, it just felt nice to listen in and laugh together and hear how everyone was doing.

Time has passed and our meals around that table have gotten farther and fewer in between. Still, they live on in my heart. It’s like I am a patchwork quilt, sewn over time, and some of my squares are of my times seated at that long kitchen table.

The echoes of my times at that table have resurfaced here as this blog. This Blog is my long kitchen table and there’s a seat here just for you. You can read my stories and I look forward to hearing yours. Thanks for coming!