It's not the table...

My sister wants to buy a table, an expensive, large, custom-made Amish resin-vein statement for her new house. This is not a impulse buy.

Because of the expense of the purchase there is some anxiety around selecting the right table. There are many choices, too many in fact. How long? How wide? Round or Rectangular? What space do you have? Formal or casual? Glass, wood, stone, or composite? How many chairs do you have? Do the chairs fit the table? 

The choices can be overwhelming, with an seemingly infinite number of good options.

But here is a thought I had. It's actually not about the table. It's the people, stupid. It's the people you put around the table that matter, not the table itself.

It's just a table, after all. Its purpose is not to be looked at. A table's purpose is service.

A table's purpose is to not get in the way. It can't be ugly, of course. But once it meets the criteria of not being ugly, of not detracting from the space, then it should seamlessly blend it and do its work without complaint. It needs to be large enough, yes. And stable, sure. But it does not have to stand out. Let its size and solidity be its primary statement. Let its simple elegance quietly whisper.

"Come and join me for a meal," it will call out. "Love and laugh and talk and share time together. Send the love around again for second helpings.  Dress me up sometimes but don't be afraid to bring me your everyday concerns. Spill on me. Cry around me. I am not afraid of the fight. Bring me your crayons and your fountain pens, loose-leaf notebook and leather bound journals. Give me your hot dogs and your haute, dawg. I can handle it all."

A silent drum is a sad drum, is (I think) an old proverb. So is a table in a quiet room. It will be happy only when in service to the people who sit around it. Like the Velveteen Rabbit it becomes real when, and only when, it is loved.

Buy a fancy table it you love it. Love is an action word. Love your table by using it. By using your table you give it a chance to love you back.

But don't forget that the love that matters is the love you share with those who join you at the table. It's the people around the table, stupid.

It's just a table after all.