the dignity of softwood

You've been there for near fifteen years, shining and solid in a sea of swirling colors. At first you were held in awe, protected from the trauma of life. Soon enough, we became comfortable with you, included you in daily tasks and mundane activities. You held up, strong and sure, still lovely despite the wear of life.

And how well you've endured.

You've held holiday dinners, been crowded round with chairs and benches and happy bumping knees. You've proudly displayed Mother's Day flowers, birthday cakes, piles of stocking gifts. You've been witness to tea talks, stupid arguments, flirting, serious discussions, weeping--and you've held the secrets that were whispered over and around you late at night. Babies have been propped up on your smooth safe surface, to smile and make eyes at everyone passing by; little children have tiptoed to gaze over your edges at the delights that were promised for later, not yet. You've held textbooks and coloring pages, and borne up under the slammed books and pounded fists of frustration. You've been covered with puzzles, card games, the Mechanic's projects, craft days, disassembled rifles, and paperwork, yet maintained your simple beauty and grace. Dinner parties, both formal and impulsive, have gathered around you, and all have been welcomed, whether clothed in jeans or flowy dresses. On you, two little kittens discovered mischief in the shape of food-thievery, and an elderly dog cruised the edges, nose sharp and sharklike, just in case. You've had paint, tea, gallons of milk, dark mechanical grease, bottles of ketchup, and pencil shavings spilt over you, without leaving scars. You've lain still under the labored first letters of wobbly littles' hands, and endured the scrawlings of a girl spilling out the tears of her soul. Late-night phone callers have found a perch on you, and exhausted flannel-clad mourners have laid down their heads and wept into your grain. You've hosted dice games, and the hilarious or serious conversations that accompany. An illness-worn kitty laid down his head on your cool smoothness, and was stroked away from the scariness. Happiness, grief, terror, and content have all, in turn, gathered round you--and been welcomed, and soothed or nurtured, whatever was necessary.

You are a refuge, a bastion of hospitality, an enduring fortress of cheer and comfort. No task is too humble for you to bear, no parties too lofty for you to serve. In simplicity and grace, you welcome all laughing guests, all weary ones, to come, gather here.

[such should be all kitchen tables]