I have some time right now. So I opened up my outline for the Table Stories book idea to see what was next in my list to work on. The outline read “Shrimp: Chris, New Orleans” and I slumped while whispering “fuuuuck me”. The last story I wrote in this series was hard. In fact it was so difficult and released so much buried feelings that I thought that story was going to be the worst of it. Silly, silly Cindy. You think I’m going to give up alcohol for a month and write about Chris in New Orleans during the same month in which I watched his body break down and disintegrate? Look, I ain’t no emotional superhero. I think I’m going to skip that one for now and move on to a story that I have been craving.

When we were all young and still in undergrad, Chris and I would host Breakfast Nights in the apartment we shared with Amy. The kitchen in that apartment was so small that if I wanted to make biscuits, I had to roll them out on our dining room table. I think the kitchen in my pop-up camper has the same amount of counter space as that kitchen in that apartment had. Breakfast Nights were my favorite thing. We’d start calling our friends up and tell them to come over and bring something like bacon or bread or eggs. Chris and I would stand shoulder to shoulder at the tiny stove, me flipping pancakes while he cooked bacon. The dining room table would be loaded with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes and all the stuff to put on toast and pancakes. It was a buffet and after everyone loaded up their plates, we would all find places to sit in our living room, some of us on the couch, some of us cross legged on the floor. There would be laughter and shenanigans and sometimes, games. Everyone would leave with full bellies and it was cheap.

Breakfast Nights were my first introduction to the joy that can be had in the gathering of friends around a table. Later in life, Chris and I would share a CSA with Misti. On pick up day, we would gather in Misti’s Brokedown Palace to divide our weekly veggies. Then we’d make a dinner with some of our haul and sit around Misti’s table, eating and laughing and being silly. If the weather was good, we’d end up sitting around a fire pit in Misti’s backyard until late into the evening hours. There was so much side aching laughter. We were laughing all the time. At what, I could not even tell you. We just laughed. That is the thing that I can tell you about every gathering of friends around a table. No matter what was on that table, there was always laughter. Those of us who have been following guidelines to protect ourselves and our loved ones from a deadly virus are all really missing those types of gatherings right now. That’s probably why I am craving these memories and stories. I miss those gatherings. I miss you, but with patience and hope I know we will all have new gatherings for creating new memories.

Some day.