kitchen table Archives - grace grits and gardening

I’m excited to be guest posting at A Love Letter to Adventure today, an incredible blog written by my friend Sarah Shotts. Sarah is an amazing photographer, an adventurer, a traveler. I like to think of Sarah as a younger, more exciting version of myself.

I’m a homebody. Sarah’s a world traveler. I love to take pictures. With my iPhone. She’s a real photographer with a fancy camera. She knows all about shutter speed and things like that.

Maybe I’ll get a camera this year? It could happen.

But the thing is, no matter who we are or where we travel (or don’t travel), we all have stories to tell.

Anyway. Several months ago, she asked me to guest post for her. I totally forgot what I wrote, but ta-da! HERE IT IS.

Tales from the Kitchen Table.

I hope you’ll read so she’ll ask me back:)

Happy Sunday friends!

Grace Grits and Gardening

Farm. Food. Garden. Life.

[tweetthis url=”http://bit.ly/1Kyud0i”]If you don’t tell your stories, who will? @sarahdshotts [/tweetthis]

And now, check out today’s Musical Pairing. Everything about this video is a story…

Lynn Anderson – I’ve Been Everywhere

My sister and I spent entire afternoons at the kitchen table creating paint-by-number masterpieces, dipping the brush into little pots of paint and applying color between the lines.

While Momma made lunch, we cut paper dolls from the Sears catalog.

Balls of peanut butter cookie dough were pressed into sugary crisscross patterns with a fork. We waited impatiently at the table for the cookies to bake.

From the kitchen table, we learned life lessons. Daddy grumbled about the weather. Friends joined Momma for a cup of Folgers. After supper, accidental stains and food crumbs were erased with soapy water and a dishrag. Each day began fresh at the kitchen table.

Seasons were marked as the center fruit basket was replaced with an evergreen candle Saturday after Thanksgiving. After a deep fresh snow, we made bowls of snow cream with lots of vanilla and sugar.

Momma cut dress patterns, worked crossword puzzles, called out spelling words. We made vacation plans and counted down to the lake over breakfast bowls of grits.

Each afternoon, Momma sorted through bills, Columbia House junk mail, a letter from my Australian penpal delivered half a world away straight to our small, sturdy table.

I studied for the ACT test, trying to block the sound of the television in the den, plotting my escape to college. Later, I couldn’t wait for that first home-cooked meal after fall semester.

Shocked and numbed, we gathered around the table to select songs for Daddy’s funeral.

History lives.

Future plans are laid.

All from the ordinary kitchen table.