I remember the colour of my grandmother’s kitchen table..
It was an institutional green with little gold stars and a splattering of tiny pin prick polka dots.
The matching plastic chairs were cushiony and comfortable…unless you sat on them for a long period of time wearing shorts. Then getting up from the table was difficult and somewhat painful.
I would visit that table every Friday evening after school was finished and piano lessons were completed.
Because we were “good” Catholics, most Friday’s we’d eat salmon casserole canned string beans and mashed potatoes. Some Friday’s were special, Grandma would serve fish sticks and Rice-A-Roni both tasting scrumptious on my little girl palate.
We’d gather around that table on Sunday’s too. On that day Grandma would serve her after church special of fried chicken and rice. We’d end our feast with chocolate chip cookies or butterscotch pie.
Friday after Friday and Sunday upon Sunday I’d sit at that table and eat and visit and “be” with my family.
Until Grandma got too old and frail to cook. Then we’d go for burgers and hotdogs or the Motor Inn Breakfast Buffet.
But it wasn’t the same as sitting around that green kitchen table.