But at Least We Ate, Right?

Herr Meow and I had dinner at the kitchen counter-- not at the dinner table.

Everything else was genial: he ate plenty and had good manners, and the food was reasonably okay and balanced.

But as we ate perched on stools at the counter-- a slight step above eating right over the sink-- it felt so very wrong.  It actually made the absence of those who weren't dining there that much more acute.

Dining on those hard stools --so nice and cheerful in the mornings or at snacktime or any other time of day-- is the equivalent of not having that foot next to you at night.

Sometimes I wonder about people who are separated by war, or loss, or other circumstance, and not by a trivial business trip, and I wonder if they pity themselves at least a little bit and look back fondly at the dinner table and feel their heart break just a little bit.

So just know that today I thought of you.  And maybe by so doing, we were all a little less lonely.

Comments

[LJ]

Love this post. I really like it when I can just visualize the scene like I was there.