The Kitchen Table

This was written for the Writer's Post Blog Hop hosted by Tayla Tate Boerner of "Grace Grits and Gardening".

     The kitchen table was sitting on the front lawn waiting to be auctioned off.  As I watched prospective bidders mill around my parent’s things memories came rushing back.  Every season warranted a new tablecloth.  If it was Christmas, the tablecloth featured holly berries or a Currier and Ives scene.  If it was Halloween, there would be pumpkins.  If it was Easter, there would be Easter eggs or bunnies.  It is funny the things a person remembers.

      So many memories from coloring Easter eggs to turkey dinners punctuated with the laughter of my family.  There were nights gathered around the table playing Monopoly and seeing my Dad enjoying his ice cream before bedtime.  On holidays the leaves would go in and the table would magically grow to hold all the marvelous food my parents prepared.

      Now the table is empty devoid of a table cloth.  My parents are gone and the family that once was will never gather around it again.  I still have my memories, but it is time for the table to find a new home.  Life is about changing and nothing ever stays the same.   With a lump in my throat I take one last look and walk away.

Kitchen Disasters-BFF 176

     In the almost 15 years that I have ruled over my kitchen I have had my share of disasters.  If I wasn’t such a klutz and didn’t occasionally have my head up my a$$ a lot of the worst disasters would have been avoided.  Even when I think I have it planned and all should be stellar disaster still strikes.  I am a good cook, but a messy one and have a habit of slopping food all over the stove.   I rarely am able to prepare instant mashed potatoes without them boiling all over the stove and sending the stupid fire alarm off.  My family is well aware that if the alarm sounds and I am in the kitchen that it is only Mommy cooking.  Go back to your lives citizens! 

       It seems whenever I want everything perfect is the precise moment all hell breaks loose.  Recently I decided store bought birthday cakes cost entirely too much.  I know I can bake my own cakes for a lot less. I mean really, how hard can it be??   When my husband’s birthday rolled around, I went to the store and bought a cake mix, frosting, and the trimmings needed to make it look spectacular and rushed home with a bounce in my step and a smile in my heart.  Everything went off without a hitch.  I mixed up the batter and placed it in the oven.  I took the cake out of the oven at the precise time the box said and then….disaster struck.  At just that moment my kids and the three dogs decided to race through the kitchen.  My Boston terrier Jolly ran into my leg sending me sprawling flat on my a$$ and the perfect cake flying.  The cake went up, and as only the laws of gravity can allow, the cake came down.  Splat!!  There I sat on the floor in the middle watching my dogs devour what was left of my perfect cake.   

             The tears began and the sobs commenced.   I had a meltdown.  My husband came out into the kitchen and told me amid the mess that he didn’t need a cake.  With a stubbornness that is typical of me, I picked myself up mad as a hornet and said “the hell you don’t!!”  It was his birthday after all and there was no way in God’s green earth he wasn’t going to have cake and candles, not while I had breath in my body.  I grabbed my purse and stormed out of the house, got into my blazer, and literally flew out of the driveway in my quest to buy another cake mix.  Fortunately by the time I came home, the mess I had left behind had vanished.   My husband had cleaned up the aftermath in my absence.   I took a deep breath and baked another cake, which turned out just right the second time around.

         Just last night I got the brilliant idea I was going to cook rice in the microwave.  I carefully studied the instructions and thought I did exactly as they suggested.  Unfortunately, when the timer went off I discovered the rice had been transformed into a solid brick.  I was horrified!  It was the consistency of concrete.   I could have used it for a weapon!!  In my disgust I slam dunked the rice into the trash.  It reverberated when it hit the bottom with a loud BAM!   Being a resourceful cook, I served sherbet instead.  

        Other than the occasional broken dish, fallen cakes, sliced fingers, and that one time I accidentally flooded the kitchen when I went to help the kids with something while filling the sink with dish water, I have confessed all.   For the record, most of my activities in the kitchen are nothing less than dynamite.  My conscience is clear until next time when I can give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.