The old oak table at the farm has 4 leaves, making it possible to serve 12 people. Needless to say, I’ve not been serving that many this past year.
The Wooden Table
The earliest kitchen table that I remember had drop leaves on each side and nicely turned legs. We just needed one leaf up, since there were only three in my family (Yes, I was an only child; betcha couldn’t tell that.)
Atop the table was an overlay of oilcloth. The covering could be cut to size from a bolt at the local dry goods store. (No hemming required.) The sturdy fabric wiped down well and when it began to crack, it was cheap to replace. My favorite was the gaudy one with big, cheerful sunflowers. (Oilcloth is still made today, but with PVC included.)
Out with the Old; In with the New
When Formica top tables came into vogue, our old wooden table was moved to the enclosed porch, where it spent its last days holding an array of potted plants.
Our new table, like the old one, held a variety of eating accessories: always a salt and pepper set and a sugar bowl, a green melamine container with a spoon that came up through the lid. During the summer months a few roses from my father’s flower garden brightened our meals.
When my father developed diabetes, another permanent glass bowl was added to hold the pink packets of “chemical sugar,” as I called them
The Decorative Napkin Holder
This is identical to the one I grew up with.
Then, there was the napkin holder, a decorative piece, if not always a matching one. I well remember the one with the crocheted cover, featuring a yellow flower at the center. The craft piece must have come in a kit, because I’ve seen the very same pattern and color on line.
We spent many an hour around those old tables—eating, laughing, playing cards, sipping tea, reading newspapers, storytelling, working crossword puzzles, pouring over catalogs, paying bills, dealing with family problems.
If kitchen tables could talk, they’d reveal a lot about our lives—which would be reason enough to replace them from time to time.
My Table Today
Now as I look at the kitchen table in my condo, the scene is quite different. On my smallish, black wooden table, I have a Mondrian-designed placemat gifted to me by Robin after a museum visit.
Rounding out the discordant look, is a box of Kleenex and a bowl of assorted face masks for easy access. That’s it. I’m thinking my table needs a facelift. Perhaps a retro look. I’ve found oilcloth on line. Now I’m looking for someone who still crochets napkin holders. Hmm. . . and maybe a matching Kleenex box cover.
Great stories. One to add is that your son Russ bought the wooden dinning table that is at the farmhouse at a yard sale back in the day. No one was happy about that because it was in bad shape but he fixed it up and there you have it!
Yes, I thought of that, too. But the post was getting long so I dropped some of the asides
that would have been interested. Glad you added it in the comments.
Me too. Thanks for adding more Carnahan tales. Good skills!
If ever there was a title for another jean Carnahan book, “If Kitchen Tables Could Talk” is it! I once had a dream in which my deceased mother and i were eating at our kitchen table. The usual items on the table had been replaced by a tall glass canister filled with breadsticks. Those breadsticks were all broken into small pieces. I wondered what my mom was saying. Turns out that dream was my mother’s warning not to buy a house I was intending to close on that afternoon. The dream made me take a closer look at where and how the house was situated, and I suddenly realized what my mom meant: people who live in glass houses, with everything inside broken. The house of my dreams was prone to earthquakes and mudslides! Good old kitchen table discussion.
Now that’s a funny story. Belly laugh of the day.