It's funny, after I made a comment about my dining room table serving as an office more than a place to entertain, I had the pleasure of dinner companions 2 out of the next 3 nights. I had to push away my still humming laptop, and stack a few books and papers. The first guest was a friend of mine of the male persuasion who had come over to fix a faucet. It was comedy to try and prepare dinner with him sprawled under my sink and no water. When he finished, he lounged on the couch, and I buzzed in the kitchen, kind of scattered. I looked over to see he'd dozed off. He woke with a certain male instinct when everything was ready, and I brought a plate of food to him. He looked at me wide-eyed and asked "can we sit at the table?"
The table. And had I not just lamented the unused table a blog back?
I feel like an unused table. There are things I am made for, but it seems other things have filled the void, and I have to push them aside hastily when my true purpose comes into being.
I like to entertain. I like to prepare meals and linger over the dinner table in conversation. I was so caught off guard by my friend's last minute decision to come over and eat together, that the scores of candles I have for just such an occasion languished in a drawer. The Parmesan cheese I have to top off pasta stayed hidden in the back of my refrigerator, though my hurried pasta sauce was in need of that one more thing.
Seems as if I'm going to have to do some evaluating and rearranging. I'm not sure what that's going to look like, but I want to be ready the next time someone comes to dine.