It wasn’t our usual meal in the kitchen. Our first dinner of the New Year was in the dining room, with the fancy china, crystal and candlelight. Meals with the kids are usually much less formal.
This one warranted the seasonal tablecloth my mother gave me a few years before she died. At the centre of the table, in a place of honour was a brass candle holder my husband’s maternal grandmother had owned. Dessert was served from her tea cart on a cake stand my paternal grandmother had owned. It felt as if they were all present.
My husband, our daughter and I shared stories of these women and life when we were growing up. The eldest grandchild, at eight years old, asked questions while the other two listened. There were five generations at the table.
Dinner with the family took on a whole new meaning.