The Table

All three sisters in the Cancilla family have sent me presents. All three sisters have given be presents that go on my dining room table. (Not to mention the actual table itself.) Starting at zero I now have salt and pepper shakers, three pairs of candle sticks ranging from pewter to crystal, and countless tablecloths, placemats, and napkins. Are they saying I don’t know how to dress a table? No. They are just helping me start my own traditions.
Sunday dinner was a tradition at 965 North Street. Grandma would generally be the cook unless pizza or chicken soup was on the menu where she was a part of a team. We ate pasta with whole-made sauce, chicken a-la king (Yes Janie she did make this frequently), and spoon roast. My favorite was a chicken and broccoli quiche dish...hmm…. maybe it was ham. Sunday usually meant we ate in the dining room. I was in charge of setting the table. First I got to choose the tablecloth (handmade especially for that table of course.) After that I would put down the plates from the piesafe then move on to napkins and silverware. I frequently got in trouble for handing out dessert forks instead of dinner forks and perhaps even forgetting what side the fork went on. That is until I learned you ‘eats to the left and drinks to the right’. Not the best grammar but helpful for remembering where the wine glasses go. Sunday also meant the table got candles. Candles, in general, were not allowed on 415 Dalton Ave. They were a fire hazards that would surly burn the whole house down. Even though I no longer live there I know that there is only one candle and it is primarily lit on Sunday to get rid of the smell of bacon. At Grandmas they were not a fire hazard. My mother was always playing with the wax. We would eat dinner.. perhaps dessert and then all the beautiful table settings would go away. The table cloth was shook outside to get rid of crumbs ..if it was clean enough it would go back into the drawer. If it got candle wax on it Grandma knew the trick and it was put in the basement. The plates and silverware were sent to the kitchen. There even though there was a dishwasher my memories are of a Grandpawasher. His sleeves would be rolled up and his arm hair wet and slicked down up to his elbows while he was washing the dishes.. Dinner was followed by May-I but I will talk about my future gambling addiction at a different time
I don’t remember cooking or even eating when Joe and I lived together in Pittsfield. I remember a few fancy meals that we cooked for each other but I didn’t think about my diet on a regular basis. Now that we are in Portland big chunks of my day consist of thinking about what we are going to have for dinner. The table stays set with placemats and napkins so it is not a daily chore or a special Sunday thing. ..it’s more in the middle. I think because the table is set, every meal becomes something slightly more special.