I’m not sure how much Mama enjoyed her life. She had a full time job, 5 days a week from 9 to 5, and then came home to her other job of making sure our homework and chores were complete. She slipped seamlessly from her paid position to raising four kids, plus a husband and doing what she thought was supposed to be done, but I wonder which job was more rewarding? She was always doing.

I can envision her standing over a hot stove cooking dinner while still wearing her office clothes of high heels, pantyhose and a dress, but protected by an apron. I was usually sitting at the kitchen counter doing my homework watching this woman prepare a fully cooked meal single handedly for us. No one was allowed to step foot into the kitchen while she was cooking, mainly because she was moving so fast it was considered life threatening.

I’d ask to help, but her response was always no. As a distraction, she’d ask me to set the table, or call the men inside to get cleaned up before dinner. By the time I got married I could barely boil water successfully on the stovetop, much less cook a meal.

In my 20’s we didn’t have computers in the home. They were only used for work, so remained at the office and this was long before laptops, but I started buying cookbooks to learn how to cook. From watching Mama, I knew there was supposed to be a meal on the table every evening, so I taught myself to cook by using recipe books.

My daughter was 5 years old when she asked to help in the kitchen and she used a step stool to stand above the edge of the counter, but I’d let her help. By the time she was a teenager, the step stool was long gone and it became more than helping. She wanted to do it on her own with minimal help. I wanted her to experience what I didn’t, so I relinquished Mama’s kitchen and welcomed her in.

My daughter is a young adult who can cook most anything that interests her and wants time in the kitchen. Some of our most treasured moments took place in tiny kitchens where there was barely enough room for one, much less two. She’d chop, and I’d clean the surfaces behind her. If she cooked the entire meal, I’d wash the dishes, but she’d help put the kitchen in order.

Preparing a meal together isn’t about the food as much as being together in a confined space. We’d talk, listen to her music, which was sometimes frightening and get in each other’s way, but it was always worth the time spent. We’d sit down at the table previously set with placemats, fine china, silverware, cloth napkins and chilled goblets of ginger ale to share a meal. A dinner table invites deep conversations.

While living solo I still cook dinner almost every evening and sit at that same table. It is still set with a placemat, china, silverware and a cloth napkin, but it feels like a kindness to myself as if affirming, “You’re doing good, Barb.”

The kitchen takes no time to clean because I clean as I cook and thinking of all of the years I spent making meals for others, it’s worth doing for one. We may not be hosting dinner parties for 20 anymore, but it feels vitally important to continue hosting the life we have today.

Plus, while enjoying a meal at a table for one, the conversation is fantastic!

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