Clear the table
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
I can remember my grandma saying, "Clear the table, girls," and we would do just that, removing plates, empty bowls, the gravy dish with a smidgeon left in the bottom, preserving the forks, dusting crumbs off onto the floor when no one was looking, readying the table for dessert. Grandma's table was never filled with clutter. It was always in readiness for the next meal which came right on time: 12 o'clock noon, 6 o'clock supper.
My mother followed that same tradition, in fact I can remember my father — long gone from the farm and its rigorous labor — fussing if the noon meal was delayed. It threw the whole world off schedule. If we were working on some project that filled the table, we'd clear it immediately when we heard Dad drive up. These days, when Mom is anticipating company, she sets the table in advance, just relishing how lovely it looks in readiness. By contrast, my table is a mess. It seems to be impossible to keep it cleared, no matter how hard I try.
There are frightening statistics about how often the average American family sits down at the table for a meal together. It isn't even once a day! The table is more for setting things than setting down to eat. Times have even changed in my household! When the girls were small, we sat at the table three times a day, sharing our daily bread. Now, with just my sister and myself, we most often sit at the table and have our noon meal together — the rest of the time it's grab and run.
If company comes, I clear the table in a hurry — it gets stacked on my bed to sort out later. But all too often, when we sit down to eat, the table is not cleared — it is shoved aside to make room for two place settings. My ancestors would be horrified.
When Grandma Schubert was shocked or aghast, there was a German phrase she'd use which I can't really pronounce nor spell but it sounded like "Ach de leiberamole," or something close. Right now Grandma would say, "Ach de lieberamole, Patricia, clear the table!"
The other day at breakfast, I sat at one corner of my table, wishing the surface clear. Then I laughed and started writing a tally of the table contents: one big black garbage bag from last night's foray to the bull riding event in Abilene where it rained on us for an hour, miscellaneous hot pads from different houses (one from Cousin's Corner, one from Mom's, one that was a gift from my old friend Doc with cardinals on the front, one that I don't recognize — could that be from the parish hall? I've got to get that back!) keys, nail polish, plant tags, a pen, seed packets (we were hunting for corn seed to plant one more time), a money order someone handed me for Jessica, star squash (which I'd never seen before) from my art student, Grant, in a basket with tomatoes (my attempt at a center table arrangement), a screwdriver, extra screws from photo albums (we've suddenly become scrap-bookers), Jane's pickle recipe, a cookbook open to the canning section, a towel dropped from the kitchen, (oh my word, there's the REMOTE for the TV under the towel. I was looking for it earlier), vitamins I forgot to take, $8 in a wad left over from the $50 I took to the fair, my purse, Tim's empty Pepsi can, his Sudoku book open to the most difficult section, my tea cup with the contents cooling, an empty plastic bag, the wrapper from Jessica's string cheese, her glasses, a wrapper from a piece of licorice candy, a big box of flower seeds, stray kernels of corn — all this on top of the tablecloth. Clear the table!
It's another day in the country and we cleared the table Saturday — it was Tooltime Tim's birthday. Afterward, I vowed to keep it clear. Perhaps this humiliating confession will spur me on! We'll probably never again be three-times-a-day-sit-down-at-the-table folk, but, come on people, let's make sure we clear the table and eat together once a day, at least!
