monday's mulling: the kitchen table {november 27, 2023}

Photo: Ohio Humanities

Wow...it's the last Monday of November. I tried hard not to let Christmas mingle with Thanksgiving and did a pretty good job of it. I did a little Christmas shopping leading up to Thanksgiving but as far as Christmas decorating, that will start today.

I do love Thanskgiving and even more so now that we are empty nesters. It's a quiet holiday where the focus is gratitude and blessings which is a lovely mindset to have while phasing into the bright and busy Christmas season. 

This year we had four of us at our Thanksgiving table and I do believe that is the fewest amount of people that has been here for Thanksgiving. That sure didn't stop me like I was cooking for an army! We talked and laughed, shared stories about our families' Thanksgiving traditions, bantered about the Ohio State/Michigan football game, and left the table very full of food and love. 

Below is a poem from former U. S. Poet Laureate Joy Harjo (Muskogee [Creek] Nation). It's about connection and community, opening our hearts to  one another during a conversation with a friend, at the office, or even across the dinner table.

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Perhaps the World Ends Here
by Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.