Table Stakes...for what they're worth

Growing up in the 60's and 70's, there was a certain rhythm to dinner time and the gathering of the family. It was somewhat chaotic, a bit of a challenge to get the four of us around a table for any length of time. Usually it was my mother and sister and I; my father, a fast-rising Secret Service man usually was not home in time and ate separately.

It must be something in the DNA.

Tonight, we were able to come together and despite the relative late hour, it was a singularly blessed event. A sophomore in college, a sophomore in high school. An 11th hour decision to make home-made mashed potatoes vs. box versions. A full-press effort to find butter, or a favorable substitute.

Most families cannot connect the pearls throughout the day to string together two in a row. To bring the family together, for at least 30 minutes, and to collectively share something in addition to matching chinaware is something special. I'm sure that regardless of how old the children become, the inevitable Cocoon-like effect of the dinner table is forever: we revert back to an age where we once shared time, space and talking.

It was an extraordinarily average day. It was perhaps filled with some elements of drama, and some elements of boredom. However, in the end, with the quiet tones of a clock in the hall, we successfully overlapped our busy schedules into a time together that we shared.

It is, unfortunately, sweet rarity. But at the same time, it merely reminds us of the lure of the next go-around.

And at the appointed time, we devolved into our separate ways. We scattered, merely waiting the randomness that perhaps will bring us back together again.

And I look forward to such gatherings, if only for the notion that we once again share in something beyond just being related. We crave, we hunger, we seek, and as we attempt to satisfy such urges perhaps we put away ones that we can alleviate by being together.

It is visceral, and it is vital. And it makes me ultimately very happy when I listen to the hum of the dishwasher as the lone conclusion of our time together. It is a reminder of a time when we shared.