Mom, a Wood Stove and a Wooden Dining Table: The Foundation of Our Family
There She Stood
because she seldom sat prior to, during, and after her kitchen work was finished. Oh, it wasn't just a few days--but "til' death do (them part)." Wedding vows. Even these institutions have said farewell to a bitterly-changing life. I wish that I had the wisdom to cope with it. But I do not. And as not to make a big deal out of how things change, what about how things have CHANGED?
One day, it was a Man and a Woman who exchanged vows to each other for an ironclad marriage, and now, it is similar to a guy buying a used Chrysler only to take it back to the lot in a few days because the radiator has a hole and the buyer threatens an ugly lawsuit if the problem isn't resolved.
But this piece, a very-personal piece, is not about radiators and Chryslers, it is about something way deeper, way-more sensitive. I am the only one to blame for not understanding the two subjects of this hub when I had the time.
There The Object of Our Food, Heat, and Security
sat. At the back of our kitchen facing north. It had black warming shelves, a white body, and a hot water reservoir--that was one of my household chores to keep this thing filled because as my sainted mother told me (often) "if you don't have hot water, you can't wash the dishes," and one night she taught that very lesson to me and I learned just how right that she was.
Children, at certain ages, are tough to teach, even harder for them to learn. I know.
There is not a one of us, even though we were given (a) Truth Test, that has not been given those early morning times, each day of the week, and our mom's (possibly a few unmarried dad's) who followed their clock like a raging Great White on the prowl somewhere in the shallow tides of Key West.
Our mom's and dad"s knew precisely, without the use of an alarm clock or radio, what time it was to get out of bed, what time it was to have the kids up, dressed, teeth brushed or showers given and all of the family sat down together for a morning breakfast--and these moments were NOT just moments, they were built-in to keep our lives humming because a lot of us did not have to hear our parents it was time for school!
Right Now Here in America
"these" sensitive and bonding feelings are slowly being given away to the Technics (and other) Stupid Games played by the Thumbs of America. And oh, no! Let us not forget about those Magic Thumbs that are now being compared to the Friedric Chopin's and the all-time flashy Liberace, who just light up any arena around the world.
You may not have stopped long enough to realize the many truths about our mom's, their diligence to their work, and her wooden dining table. There. I said it. And not ashamed to tell you that in my most-trying days as a kid, my family and I always had a dining table and the older I grew, the more that I grew to appreciate this fixture that meant so much to us.
Actually, I could say the very same string of adjectives in comparing our mom, who was wihtout a question, the hardest-working member of our family, including my dad. She was always up before the sun and providing the much-needed first meal of the day: breakfast and if I were to tell you about what she made, you would run to your kitchen and start cooking due to the hunger that my mom's dishes made.
There was always a noon meal: dinner, in what us ruralites called this meal in order for my dad to stop his plowing and take an hour with my mom so they could rest and so he could sample her amazing dinner meal favorites and although I was in school, at noon time, I would always be thinking about my parents and how they were enjoying their noon meal and how much joy that went with this meal, and the joy that came from our kitchen table.
The same can be said about our nightly-meal: supper, which was what we ruralites called dinner for the city dwellers. But I would be there with my mom and dad, and even my sister and her family who might be visiting to enjoy the food, atmosphere, and memories that our family were building.
Before I Leave This Journey of Memories
I would love to tell you that as I grew to adulthood, I began to look at my mom's dining room kitchen and what it really stood for: togetherness with a family when we could enjoy conversation while we ate; a wooden dining room table was more than a piece of furniture, it was a main staple for my family and of course, me, who was always asking for more of mom's delicious cooking and today I am so sad at the realization that I cannot visit with my parents again in this life and sit down to mom's wooden kitchen table, but if I know my mom, one day I will join her, my papa, and sister and sit at the most-glamous, warm, dining table EVER.
And who do think was doing the cooking? You guessed it. My mom.
But with the time I have, we were on the topic: Mom, a Wooden Stove and Dining Table Were The Head of Our Family
. . .and before I give our mom's, dad's, grandma's and granddad's, wives and daughters, I just want to give every member of his group a hearty, heart-felt handshake, pat-on-the-back and a High Five in front of everyone. You deserved it. And thank you, my mom, dad, sister, my wife and daughter, who is in Heaven right now. Rest, dear daughter. You earned it.
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© 2019 Kenneth Avery