There’s something traditional and warm to me about setting the table for dinner. It was always my job, as a young one, to take the plates, forks, knives, determine whether we need spoons or condiments on the table. The napkins were never fancy, but something about sitting down to a set table felt special.
We’ve had a busy and stressful summer. Good things and bad things. While I stayed in Moscow and worked, Bryan spent the beginning of his week off in Coeur d’Alene with his family. When he returned, I made him dinner and found this the perfect opportunity to set the table. It would surprise him and make him feel home again.
I set out some white placemats with my gold tone flatware. Taper candles and fresh fruit, mismatched plates and leftover flowers from the day of my grandma’s funeral when Bryan came home with two of them for me, knowing I’d had a day.
Side Note: “I’ve had a day.” That’s what I like to say instead of “I’ve had a bad day” or “I’ve had a hard day.” Some days are so inconsequential, even by whining standards. No one has any need to hear about someone’s mediocre day. But to declare you have had a DAY means it was a day that you felt, a day that happened and you will remember without insignificance. That day, when we attended my Grandma’s funeral, was a day. A day that needed flowers brought home, that Bryan is intuitive.
He was surprised and thrilled and went on and on about how good it felt to be home. I used the napkin rings his mom gave me, bringing old home into new home. I even lit the candles.