I remember having a little card table with collapsible legs in my tiny 400 Sq. Ft. Greenwich Village apartment. It made sense, having that little table, only 3x3 when it was set up. If we needed to eat on it, we'd slide it out, open it, and voila...table. SnapSnapSnapSnap. Turn, push, and it was gone.

Then came one little squealer, then another, neither large or old enough to need a real table, but they did necessitate more spacious living  accommodations.

Onward and upward, to a two bedroom apartment on the fringe of suburbia. A tiny eat-in kitchen. Four people, four little wooden chairs, four sides to the little table. Equilibrium. Then came rugRat #3, and changes had to be made.

There was a succession of houses, and houses meant 'real' furniture. We looked, and mulled, and disagreed for the proscribed interval, and compromised on a little round table with three extending leaves. I liked the intimacy the little table offered. Hubby liked the expanded roominess. With all three leaves in the table, it could accommodate 6 easily, eight in a pinch, and 10 if the people really liked eachother. We acquired, somewhere along the way, a diningroom set, a monstrously large solid wood set worthy of a formal banquet dinner. I don't think we've used it more than twice in all the years we've had it. I have a rule I try to live by. If I care about you enough to invite you to dinner, it must be because we have the kind of relationship that blossoms in the kitchen.

OK, so we have this table...and years have gone by, and I've never seen it with less than three leaves. Fully extended, it measures about four feet across and about eight feet long. It was a godsend when the kids were in the "grab food from your brother HeKickedMeFirst" stage. They couldn't quite reach eachother. Even when Baby number four joined the fingerFood realms, and the family at the table, it was ample. It took up most of my kitchen, and I longed for the empty nest days when it could be diminished to it's original showroom floor state of 4x4 round. Just a happy little table, intimate, navigable.

The older boys left for school, and toted assorted weekend friends home with them. Wrestling with the table didn't seem worth the trouble. It remained in its behemoth state. Cousins who needed a place to crash while in town, dear friends, extended family, little pals...the table always seemed full. More years went by.

All but the youngest have families of their own now. When the grands that live the closest come for dinner, if my youngest is home, there are nine of us around the table. If two of the boys (and family) arrive for the same meal, that makes 11, make that 12 counting the youngest's steady girl. Somehow, the little table that never got to be round takes a deep breath and expands to accommodate all, after a little jostling for leg room. The boys all have longer arms now. They, as grown men, still filch tidbits from eachothers plates, but it's a game. Blink and miss it. Misdirection. Magical disappearing tidbits. Hands still like little lightening bolts. The grandkids get a kick out of it. Sometimes, the other boys let 'big brother' get away with it, so that he can look like a champion to his kids. Sometimes they don't.

Hubby and I, alone at the table for coffee in the mornings, sit side by side at one end. It's quiet in the mornings. Just us, talking about the day that was, the day that's going to be. Our coffee cups barely take up a fraction of the room, but we've grown used to it. No matter where I am in the kitchen, I can reach the table. It swallows up the entire room. If it were one iota smaller, it wouldn't suffice to hold the memories it keeps within its essence. The birthday parties, the burnt roasts, the holiday dinners, the laughter, the food fights, the tears, the friends, the family.

My Granddaughter recently asked why we have such a big table in the kitchen. Before I could answer, my son, her father, said: "Because if it was smaller, grandma would have to keep her memories in a box in the garage. He reached under the table, felt for something and smiled. When he left, I got under the table and took a peek. The table not only has a wealth of memories locked within its faded veneer, it has a collection of what must be the worlds oldest bubblegum wads preserved for eternity, underneath.

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Yesterday...
 
Well, it actually started before yesterday.  It started, 32  years ago, when we left NYC.  I never wanted a lawn mower.  I never  wanted to want a lawnmower.  I never wanted to NEED a lawn mower.
 
I LIKED coming home and barely noticing that "they" had trimmed the shrubs,  or sprinkled fresh wottevah around the grounds.  I just wanted to get out  of the elevator, stick my key in the lock and put my feet up.
 
 Too often, "grounds" are darn near grounds for divorce.   Who's gunna, why should I, but you never...BlahBlahBlah....
 
Ya, there's always a neighborTeen, but even that gets pricey.  They're  averaging $40.00 per yard around here.  I don't always have that much, and  when I do, I obsess over what that $40.00 would have bought.
 
I've been through 5 lawnmowers since moving here.  
RIPwhrrrWhrrrSpurSput...fpzzzzz. Enough.
 
I put an ad in Freecycle: "Lawn mower wanted, people-powered would be  great" I got an answer from someone who wanted to know of I was 'serious".  YupYupYup.  I pressed send with both paws.
 
She had a friend who had a people powered mower who had JUST offered it to  her, and she was going to pick it up and list it on freecycle.  If I wanted  it, I could have it...etc.
 
YIPIEEEEEEEEE.  I asked her to ask her friend if it was OK to give me  her number, or else, could her friend Email me.  The friend sent me an  Email post haste with her phone #. 
 
Now, freecycle means FREEcycle.  Just give, or take, no strings or 
'beholdings', but I never feel right about just taking something.  I always  try to bring a little something, not in 'trade', but in thanks.  I had  a few crocheted Angels left from last Christmas. http://www.thriftyfun.com/tf21354158.tip.html   I decided,
although it was midsummer, to bring one.
 
The mower was JUSSSSSSST what I had hoped for/wanted/needed.  Light weight, compact but wide-headed, goes with a  fingertip touch, stores in a teeny corner, no moving parts (other than the  blades) to break down, no cord to tangle, no plug to trip over, no carb to clog,  just happyMowing....and it easily
fit in my little car...
 
   And I gave her the little crocheted angel, wrapped up in white  tissue paper, tied with a plain white string...
 
   And she opened it up, and she burst into tears...
 
It seems that she had been facing some really hard times, and didn't know  if  she had the strength to keep going...
 
.....And as I rang the bell, she had been praying: "Please God, send me an  angel, an angel I can see, so that I know that you are with me..."
 
We never know when we are being called upon to be a  messenger.
:' )

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