Ann Ipock
            Humorist, author, speaker

Kitchen Tables: The Power They Hold For Friends Who Gather ‘Round

I have decided that kitchen table friends are the best friends. That old quote really does ring true: “No matter where I serve my guests, it seems they like my kitchen (table) best.”

Something magical happens when we sit around the kitchen table with a girlfriend, by softening the rough edges of life and coaxing our timid selves into opening up—freeing us to share our stories, and our very lives. It’s like a blank slate complete with chalk: except, dialogue is spoken, rather than words written. I wonder if the enchantment comes from sitting eye-level at the table, which allows us to connect to one another face-to-face, on the same turf, in a comfy setting. We are no longer bankers, mommies, doctors, secretaries, teachers, daughters, lawyers, or what have you. We lose our labels and are simply friends. Perhaps it’s because the kitchen table is also the place where our bellies and souls are fed—for we certainly must have both physical and mental nurturing. Or is it because the kitchen table is often the central theme—the heartbeat, if you will,—of the home? We gather together as one, in communion. I don’t think a T.V., computer, or cell phone will ever take the place of the kitchen table—at least, I hope not.

My best friend came over today after a luncheon we had attended. When she walked in, I asked her where she’d like us to sit: at the kitchen table, or on my living room sofa? With a huge grin, she said, “Oh! The kitchen table, definitely.” It made me pause, thinking how much I liked the idea, myself. We then began our tête-à-tête with a mug of steaming hot coffee, topped off with a splash of kahlua. Not the usual mid-day beverage for either of us, but maybe our psyches knew we were celebrating. You see, I believe we were celebrating many things—friendship, girl power, the gift to gab, and the

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kinship of sisterhood. It was as if the six-year old girl inside each of us came alive, eagerly awaiting the ice cream truck!

When I was growing up, my mother had “the girls” over for coffee every morning. Without fail, they would converge at our house, or else at Shirley’s, Catherine’s, or Anna’s. They, too, sat at the kitchen table. No kids were ever allowed in there. If we so much as even poked one toe into the room, we were swooshed away with a firm scolding, “Go play outside!” These ladies wanted no distractions when discussing a wide array of subjects—everything from The Cuban Missile Crisis to President Kennedy’s assassination; from how to handle bedwetting, toddler biting, embedded ticks, insolent teenagers, adult acne, and burned casseroles; to sharing little tips on how to keep the spark alive in their marriage. Not that they would admit it, but I’m sure gossip was a hot topic, too. For instance, if a new preacher moved into town, my mother and her friends knew the name of the family’s china pattern before sundown. If little Joey up the street had a ruptured appendix, his family had a home- cooked meal delivered to their doorstep, even before the doctor finished stitching Joey up.

So today when my friend and I sat down, she said to me, “This is what I’ve always wanted.” “What?” I asked. She replied, “To sit around the kitchen table and spend time with a good friend.” I replied in kind. We then both reminisced to our childhood, saying that was exactly what our mothers did. In those days (late fifties, early sixties) most families had one car and a stay-at-home mom. Perhaps those kitchen table friendships took the place of modern-day therapists, general practitioners, self-improvement lessons, and email chat rooms. Perhaps the expectancy—that sheer delight

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of having “something to look forward to” was a secret to the gathering’s success. That, and the familiarity of this intimate group.

The bond that these women formed over the years was strong and impenetrable. The word trust was never uttered, because trust was proven time and time again. Their lives weren’t perfect, but they were seemingly less complicated, and these women seemed to cope well. I think we need our girlfriends now, more than ever. With the modern-day stress of (often dual) careers, health issues, school dilemmas, and family dynamics, it seems time spent with a friend at the kitchen table is a good addition to our lives. For what really takes place when we meet is a good old-fashioned hen party, complete with laughter, inspiration, security, acceptance, and if we’re lucky—answers to life’s problems. This dance of friendship, capped off with a cup of steaming hot coffee, seems a likely duo to snip out those troublesome weeds in life. And, everyone has a kitchen table—so there you go. It’s free for the asking.

And that very kitchen table has served multiple generations well. For, at the kitchen table, weddings have been planned out, finances have been straightened out, divorces have been laid out, goals have been mapped out, clothes patterns have been cut out (and sewn—at least in my home), funerals have been worked out, and surely, lives have been lived out. Oh, the stories these tables could tell!

And, think about this: Perhaps the incidences of high blood pressure, migraine headaches, stomach ulcers, spinal strain, and maybe even some cancers, would be curbed if we’d start those coffee klatches once more. Just look at how inspired I was after my friend’s visit. Now, how do you take your coffee? Cream and sugar? Feb/March 2004

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