Two Tables

It is indeed a misty moisty morning, with the trees softened by a film of of cloud. The sky promises with bits of blue. Judge sleeps, post kibble, on the rug near the bedroom door. Annie roams, tummy full, outside. I am at the long table in the dining part of the kitchen. It is less long now, minus two leaves, with only 7 chairs around the table. 6 to hold people, the 7th is for a doll or two or more. Right now a dark zip-up hoodie is draped over it

The kitchen table shows a different scene, the effects of a rainy Sunday and a sad departure. The Carolina cousins left, mini-van packed with a vacation’s worth of clothes and toys. To Annie’s relief it was packed too with Ezra, the black lab, and Bella, the little yapper. To be the only small animal is her pleasure thank you very much. Her pleasure was not shared by the remaining cousins. Here was heartbreak. Sobs and sobs. California cousins cried into mother’s arms. Who does not cry when life that brought you together wrenches you apart? Indeed, here, a tear trickles its way down a cheek, thinking of a Cape Cod family long ago, in the car’s back window, getting smaller and smaller, till finally, too small to see.

Out came the Lego sets, and Papa sat next to one bereaved young child. He found the directions. He did his best. He did the noble thing, resigned his position as the Lego advisor. The mother of tender arms took over. It was not her first lego set. Oh no. Star Wars and Harry Potter, together on the table on the cooking side of the kitchen, where the light was bright.

The light was bright too, for the game of hearts played by one young Californio, a Dad, Merv and me. Ah the young hand, just managing the fan of cards. The young eyes sparkling with contemplation of the danger cards, the hearts and the queen of spades. The young mouth, tense in concentration. The strategy designed, executed. The game won. The young face earlier buried in mother’s shoulders, now alight in strategery! And then victory!

Baths, cuddles, laps. Good nights. A quiet cabin. Just one dog. One content cat. Memories storing their way into pictures and stories. Oh, and a tear, rolling its way down a cheek, during a quiet early coffee time.

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