At child’s eye-level it was an expansive plane, festooned with sparkling and beautiful things. Lace and crystal, silver and gold. Elegant ivory candles burning brightly. Grandma’s table was the center of our holiday home.
After grandma was gone, her table came to our house. At first, Mom dressed it as her mother had. But it didn’t have quite the same magic. Both the table and our celebration seemed out of place.
Before long, though, Mom made grandma’s table her own. New treasures mixed with the old. Silver and lace were replaced by Mom’s colorful handmade tablecloths. Kids and cousins learned to pluck black olives out of inherited crystal bowls to eat off of all five fingers. But cookies were always served on Mom’s special blue tray.
I learned to cherish the new traditions made at Mom’s holiday table with all the love and laughter we shared there. As they grew, My kids learned to hold dear their Grandma’s table as much as I had loved mine.
When my table became Grandma’s Table, I’m sure it took me awhile to make it my own, too. But eventually my treasures came in to the mix. I can tell my traditions have taken hold when my girls and I dress it together. “Is this one of Grandmas tablecloths?… mom, let’s use the Spode china … hey, where is the olive dish?
We don’t always gather at my table for the holidays anymore. We can only manage to be in the same place every other year. And I can sense that a table transition is beginning.
This year, I will be driving across the country to be a grandma at my daughters table. I’ll be sure to bring her one of the treasures from my table for her to make her own.
—by Debra Parker
