One of my favorite memories of all time took place at the kitchen table. I was visiting Mom and Dad in the summer and had picked blackberries and decided to make them into jam before I went home. Mom and my daughter sat at the table and we laughed and joked together as I went through the jam making process. The feeling of unity between us was so real to me as to almost be tangible. I was the central link connecting to my mom on one side and my daughter on the other. I could sense a line of grandmothers, mothers, daughters, stretching out to infinity in both directions, bonded by the common nurturing act of capturing summer and bottling it up for winter, an act that must be as old as Eve.
The table itself was not the important thing. It was a plain kitchen table, with an extender section that could be inserted in the middle to make it larger. It was as common as eggs and bacon. But the unity we felt as we shared our lives around the table is the “stuff” of family togetherness.