A FULL TABLE

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.

MISSING

Long

9 Likes, 1 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Long"

I haven't seen the cat since Saturday. His food bowl is half full, the level it was on Saturday. No one is eating his food, so it's not like he's sneaking in at night to eat. Michael and I take turns despondently looking from Albus's food bowl to the backyard. Josephine has searched the house every morning for him. Michael has posted on Nextdoor and Facebook about him, but so far we've heard nothing. I checked the animal control website today and found out that they do not pick up stray cats. He's either found a new family or something bad has happened to him. I'm really hoping it's the first thing. 

When I was a kid, we had a gray tabby named Tuffy. He was hilarious and the whole family loved him. He would lay at the top of the stairs and slide down them just like we used to do in sleeping bags. He liked to walk on the edge of the tub while you were taking a bath. Sometimes he would freak out and climb to the top of the floor to ceiling baluster of the staircase. Tuffy was one funny little cat. We had him fixed and declawed so he'd stop ruining Mom's furniture and permanently made him an indoor cat. One day, I was walking back from playing at one of our neighbors houses and I stepped up the steps to the back door. As I pulled the screen door open, something caught the corner of my eye at the edge of the steps. I looked over and there was Tuffy, sleeping in a brown paper bag. I started to say "Hey! What are you doing out here sleeping in that bag, you silly cat?" but then it dawned on me that he was not sleeping. Tuffy had gotten out of the house when no one was looking and was attacked by a stray dog. You know? I can still see every detail of how Tuffy looked 'sleeping' in that bag. 

Tuffy was the last cat I cared for. After that I was officially a dog person and only tolerated cats. I never begged Chris for a kitten. It was always "can we get a dog? can we get a dog? can we get a dog?" until he finally gave in. Then, when Michael fed a can of sardines to tiny white kitten, I shrugged my shoulders with indifference. I told Michael Albus was his cat even though I ended up feeding him and it was my lap he usually plopped down in. I have cursed that cat for all of the dead bunnies, squirrels, rats, and birds we have had to dispose of. I have snarled at all of the cat hair that I sweep up from our floors. I have done my best to remain indifferent to the cat. Michael said once that we should be prepared for the day Albus didn't come home. We know he leads an adventurous life of a wild animal and it is a dangerous world out there. He never really belonged to us as much as we have belonged to him. 

That doesn't mean I am not sad about the idea of him never coming home. I'm pretty sad about it. All three of us are.