Go Fish

I knelt down in the corner of the dining room, just behind the table and moved the box of cassette tapes overflowing with Glenn Miller, Linda Ronstadt, and Patsy Cline out of the way to reveal a small basket.

After carefully transferring it to the table, I pulled out settings for two. I placed a small tea cup on a saucer and slid it in front of the chair at the head of the table. I duplicated the setting at my place, the spot in front of the window. The pieces were delicate bone china, patterned with blue flowering sprigs and looked striking against the mahogany dining table.

I delicately fluffed the faux foliage in the center of the table; scratchy little Gerber daisies, their leaves dappled with sun fading. “Spoons!” I scooped up 2 miniature teaspoons from the basket and placed them to the right of each setting.

I’d learned early about utensil order and as I aged, it provided an outlet to fix and fidget when I found myself in uncomfortable meal situations.

The tea parties were usually capped with a card game. I’d push my saucer to the right as the cards were divvied up. As the years passed, my cards went from being neatly organized in a row in front of me to a fan I held securely in one hand; a minor, exquisite detail.

There’s something in the gentle boundaries of that time-space that holds seeds of determination, humility, kindness, and perseverance. But mostly, I’m left considering the narrowed eyes and playfully commanded:

“Go fish.”