I have been blog-absent for a few days due to a valiant search for my dining room table. Given the nature of the Alaskan Split-Level Domicile, there is little, if any, room anywhere in this house for a real office (or dumping ground) for mail, school permission slips, and the myriad of articles Yukon clips out of the newspaper to send to "someone somewhere". The downstairs computer desk has been appropriated by yours truly, so up to the convenient dining room table goes the paper gunk.
Yukon and I hosted a dinner party on Saturday for some friends who recently were married; people who I am sure can find their dining room table. Both of us looked at the pile, now encroaching towards the end of the table we actually use for eating, and agreed (amazing) to start cleaning it off.
You might be thinking that this is not so special, but do you know where your dining room table is? Better still, do you actually eat at it? We are proponents of the "family table", eating dinner every night together. I grew up with this phenomenon, so it is important to me and the sanctity of the small amount of family time we can pull out of an afternoon/evening of the day's busyness. The addition of piles and files did nothing for my sense of family togetherness.
So the table is clean and shiny, the tulips from Costco are ever so bright and cheerful, and we find ourselves stopping and staring at the wonder of it all. Check back next week to see if the pristine view prevails...