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The Round Table: Part 4 in “Old Tables and Old Times”

12 Monday May 2025

Posted by trishascoffeebreak in Children, Family, MONDAY MUSINGS

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antiques, Changes, children, drop-leaf table, Family, gratitude, inspiration, love, Parenting

Roundtable discussions “are informal gatherings characterized by equal participation, active listening, and the exchange of ideas…roundtables encourage a more open and interactive dialogue, often facilitated by a moderator.” That’s what the internet says. In a child’s world, it is an endless sphere of participation (play-like or real), activity (of reaching, climbing, circling), and interactive ideas (imagination as troops and trucks run their courses of construction and destruction).

As the 1960s were ending, people were starting to see the value in antiques. Not museum people with historical antiques – regular Joes who had the new age, moderate-income, furnishings of the 50s and 60s. Such was the time when my mother was led to an auction by her friend whose son had gone into the “antique business”. Looking for old gems hidden by dust and paint, in need of some repair perhaps, became the weekend hobby for many. Sadly, folks were realizing grandparents had given up real value for light weight, inexpensive furnishings. In my family’s case, fires had taken most of the keepers, and the thought of finding something similar, was enticing. One find for my mother and her friend that day, was a sizable table covered with what we called antiquing, which was enamel paint covered by a dark glaze. Covered in, I believe, early 70s green, with a small chip out of one hinged area, was a coffee table with leaves dropped to the floor, which when raised, made a complete circle. A drawer in each end made the table even more useful. Mama bought it. And the seven grandchildren of her future benefitted from the purchase in the many decades to follow. Her great grandchildren, as well as friends, continued to find pleasure in the playground of the roundtable world. I am so thankful the table was saved from the fire that took my parents’ home in 1978.

Before the round table went to live at my parents’ house, her friend had her son to “strip and refinish” it. This brought out the beautiful solid maple finish of its original state, which is still its condition today – plus the many scratches, dents and wear of four generations since then. I believe my son was the first to put a scratch in Granny’s lovely table, with a toy (seems like it was one of those little silver-colored pistols, but could easily have been one of the hundreds of little animals that have trekked the terrain of the table land; he thinks it was his Hot Wheels racing). My daughter stashed “office papers” and crayons in the drawers as she opened and closed them a thousand times in her world of teaching and office work.

Next came my sister’s first child, a girl, who I am told, turned a long handled bell (another of Mama’s collections) upside down and hammered it into the table top several times. Sister’s second child, a boy, added his own marks of character, playing many sessions of Old Maid; as well as adding his sons (you see the younger one on the table in the photo above), to the activity of his Nanny Betty’s/Aunt Trisha’s table. I recall my brother’s first daughter especially enjoying the Christmas trinkets and music boxes Granny placed on the table. By the time he had more children coming along, Mama had passed the drop-leaf table on to me, and redecorated her living room. How in the world did she have the courage to place a new glass-topped table at child level? Surprisingly, it did survive. OH! That’s right, it wasn’t a round table. Far less activity could be had with four corners in the way, a smaller surface, and – like the glass-bottomed look-out towers – who can put their weight on something that looks invisible?

In my house the old drop-leaf round table continued to supply new ground for race cars, farm equipment, horse racing, army battles, board games, play-doh creativity, coloring and painting, checkers, and climbing in general. Six of my great nieces and nephews have made their own history of discoveries, battles, and masterpieces on the round table. Our friend ‘little man Ryan’ had his own activity for a short while before potty training, but we will just leave it at that. He also drove Match Box cars around and around that table, giving me great pleasure as my mother’s table continued making happy days for those we love.

I see the days of discovery for our round table coming to a close. I do hope the “informal gatherings characterized by equal participation, active listening, and the exchange of ideas” continues over this, as well as all our tables, for years to come. But it was the endless imagination of those tots who made this table so precious to me. Complete with its dents and dings, one drawer now out of function, and one detached slide-out leg that holds the leaf on that side, I have plans for repair and passing it on to someone who appreciates solid value. It is truly vintage now, and due to age, likely could soon be antique, but surely has some good days ahead in her. She now holds books, pens, and the trappings of an avid John Deere man. She comfortably holds the weight of great nephews; she doesn’t mind our feet being propped upon her, nor popcorn, coffee cups, and sippy cups.

Well, my coffee has grown cold but I have enjoyed my short trip back over the 55 or so years since my mother brought the round table home. Her own nieces and nephews will testify that she had a roundtable approach to life that carried over into the grandchildren years. If she loved anything, it was children and watching them learn. Imagination spurs learning and she was delighted to turn her house over to them to grow and learn all they could. Her love surrounded them as they surrounded the table; her guidance encouraged them as they found acceptance and inspiration to be their best. I look at the softly curved feet of the table, the scratches and dents, the missing pieces; and I long to see a world that is as willing to sacrifice parts of itself for the good of others; a world that is strong for its children and softly holds them when they need it; a world like its Creator intended it to be.

Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. (Galatians 6:2) NKJV

Big Sisters, and other November Saturday Things

07 Saturday Dec 2024

Posted by trishascoffeebreak in Life

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Tags

Family, Life, loss, love, memories, Siblings, Thanksgiving, truth

12/7/24 November Saturday mornings flew by as we enjoyed great-nephew ballgames, birthdays, shopping, and of course the fun weekend our kids are here for Thanksgiving. Preparations for Thanksgiving dinner at our table took time, but SO rewarding as I looked at each beautiful face around our tables; remembered loved ones who used to be here; and counted our blessings poured on so generously, in the life of Jesus Christ. While we missed those who couldn’t be here due to illness, or the natural course of family growth as it should be, I was reminded of the ‘Big Sister’ thoughts I wrote November 15 this year and didn’t get around to blogging it. I miss blogging when I let busy stuff and ailments interfere. Before I get into that, allow me to say how much my sister helped me this year.

While my four-month-old knee was not yet agreeable with kitchen duty, I was determined to get the family dinner done well (this year was my turn) but when it had been enjoyed, and we were enjoying one another’s company, my legs and feet were done as well! My sweet sister used her off duty year to jump in and start cleaning up the dishes, and never once complained that her big sister was too stubborn to use paper plates and plastic cups. Enough said.

11/15/24. For all the Chloes and Saras and Emilys and Kathys and Lindas out there, no matter what your name, Big Sisters: (lengthy, from the heart, and sobbing as I wrote)

I know a young lady who lost her little brother about a dozen years ago, and I think about her a lot. I’ve known others who did too – lost a younger brother or sister and learned to hop a one-legged race when they’d been used to a 3-legged race. Remember when you were kids? The weekdays of all our formative years were spent with peers, in class and extra activities. Weekends were sibling days. Maybe that’s why I especially think of siblings on Saturdays. Not long ago my sister and I lost our own little brother, all grown up and “old” to some folks’ way of thinking. But to big sisters they’re never old. We aren’t supposed to lose them.

Sympathy flows for all members of a family who’ve had a loss. My heart has broken for the parents who buried their babies. There’s no need to tell their stories; the lines on their faces and their quiet demeanor speak for themselves and we can’t begin to know their truest feelings. But today’s blog is especially for the Big Sisters.

As the older sister, “Sis” has some experience in grieving too. She hurts for her parents or other surviving family. She hurts at the toys no longer shared; basketball, and blocks, crayons and cars. And bird houses. Big sister is expected to accept the sympathy of outsiders, when she doesn’t even know herself how to voice her feelings.

I can only try to imagine how a big brother would feel. Often a man isn’t expected to break down no matter if he is four or forty. But he must feel a form of responsibility to fill Mom and Dad’s expectations for their children; to fill a void in their hearts which of course, is a shoe nobody can fill. My heart hurts for them too.

So, as an older sibling, I can say from a sister’s point of view, we also feel compelled to be there. Be there for close family members of Little Brother, no matter his age. We want to cure the ills he would have wanted to cure; to fix what he would fix. My sister and I will probably always ask ourselves what could we have done more. But since I haven’t lived in the future of answers, and we can’t live backwards, I don’t know the answer. I only can say, I understand sisters. I get it; when you want someone else to share your memories, or make new ones. When you want your excitement under the Christmas tree to be shared with one more like you. I know how you want someone to join you, or argue you out of, being mad at daddy. I know how your arms ache for a tug of war, or an arm wrestle, or a hug. I know what it’s like to want to cook their favorite dish, but no one else really cares that much for stuffed green peppers, or whatever yours loved. When a sound hits your ears and you recall how little brother fussed about it, you want it to sound louder so you might also hear him fussing. Or her. Little brothers aren’t the only ones who leave us. It can be a younger sister too, and I know these same things go for you, big sisters of younger sisters. I know also how thankful I am to have my younger sis.

A sibling’s passing is a loss with its own identity – often not well understood; probably because we really hate to make Mom and Dad cry more. Or maybe big sis or brother just hasn’t learned how to voice it. Like I said, it’s something like a one-legged race. Something shared is missing. Perhaps one crippling emotion is guilt. Do I feel guilty that my life was easier or longer? Yes and no. It ins’t a true guilt, girls, just something we have no other name for; a gut-felt sorrow that he or she doesn’t get to see you grow old. Things like that. There’s another face to this surviving sibling thing, and it is in some cases, relief they will not suffer further; although it is only a thin cloak of comfort.

Perhaps as a big sister, you were given charge of his care at times, and this becomes a heavy crusty shell we wear when we can no longer make stabbing efforts at helping our charge out of trouble. I still struggle with this. Big Sisters, you are not the parent. I repeat, not the parent. Do not hold onto that shell. Break through it and count, like blessings, the wonder you felt at his birth; at his handsome face; his witty humor; his teaching you to drive a straight shift; any and all good things you shared. You are equals – equally loved and appreciated, whether passed or survived.

It’s okay, in fact desired, by all who love you, that you go on living a beautiful life; one Little Brother would have wanted you to. This is important – you have a right to your own feelings of loss whether or not any are mentioned here. Your loss is unique because your sibling was. No matter how old or young the two of you were when parted, you still lost someone who shared your life uniquely. Whether you are angry, sad, or relieved for them, you are no longer able to tell them about it. But God can. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve pleaded with God to tell my Mama, or my brother, or dad, something so important to me for them to know. Something that my heart craves to tell them. After praying, I feel a genuine calm for the crave, and I know God will let them know what they need to hear. God is always the answer to our crave. Just look into His word. You will be certain to find crave-filling messages, and so much more. He knows our grief and our good, our hurts and our healing, when we trust and turn it over to Him.

I pray God’s richest blessings on all the big sisters and brothers, and little sisters and brothers who will spend the holiday season without that One, and every other season, too. Let’s be grateful for every good day spent with him. We are allowed to forget the ugly days if there ever were any. I try to remember there are some who never had the joy of being a sibling. Yes, there is much for which we can say, “Thank You Lord”!

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)

Linger With Your Memories, But Grow In Their Shade

17 Monday Jun 2024

Posted by trishascoffeebreak in Celebrating, MONDAY MUSINGS

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Tags

Family, Life, love, memories, motherhood, unexpecteds

Mondays, fresh with beginnings and business to take care of, still have the aroma of the weekend; often leaving us pondering how quickly endings arrive. Memories are real, but their sun has set and we don’t profit from sitting idly in their shade. I sat last evening going through photographs from the 1980’s and 90’s as requested by my daughter who conveniently forgot to do so before she left. She needed a family vacation picture from her childhood for a work project today. Old pictures are dangerous! Reminiscing can be sweet or sour, and sadly I notice each time I return to the shoeboxes of memories, that our film and camera, not to mention the lousy photography, have left many memories faded, almost non-existent; not too unlike my own ability to remember!

The fair complexion and auburn hair I once disliked, would now be welcome in place of my more aged appearance. Like so many things, it’s best accepted and not grieved. There are too many situations in life that deserve our grief, so I do not recommend creating more.

Throughout my Monday mountain of laundry, my mind was revolving around the past weekend’s activities and today’s anniversary of my mother’s passing. But there was no time to stop and write and now I’ve forgotten what I was going to say. Mostly, I guess, it is how we ought not to look back too long, as we aren’t going that way anyhow. Father’s Day and our son’s birthday are so close that we often celebrate both the same weekend, and I was excited about grilling Saturday to celebrate our son, and out to eat Sunday to celebrate my husband. Family time is important, and also important, is to stop and praise God for creating family.

So how did all that pan out? Well, not as I planned; heat that could almost have cooked the steak without the grill smothered me on the porch. Our son had worked all day and fell asleep before he came so we waited…waited…The food was good, I will say, but the best part was the four of us sitting in the sunroom chatting. Then, with all my preparations throughout the day, my feet, back, and shoulders were screaming when I tried to put them to bed.

My husband became ill with upper respiratory symptoms and hardly cared how Saturday went, or even if the food was good. But bless his bones, he was up Sunday morning first, coaxing himself to be ready for worship. The rest of the day was good; daughter arrived back at her home safely by mid-afternoon; son back to his home; and husband and I finally got a much needed nap. How old does that sound? I know. It’s sad. But it’s wonderful too! All were safe. We were together. I recuperated and actually found a nice photo which was useful in our daughter’s project.

Then today, the day fifteen years ago on which my mother passed, found me remembering something wonderful about her too. Though there were characteristics about herself she wanted to change, and though her house was often messy with projects, cooking, canning, kids, whatever, she was there. She was doing life in a way that gave her family everything they needed. No time for looking back, she plowed forward through rain or shine, to make time for us all to be together and grow in one another’s shade. On the day our son was born in 1977, my mother was canning green beans, cooking a large supper for us and my brother and dad who at that time were farming and going through a rough patch. My husband and I had landed there two days before while our house was being readied for us to move into, and wouldn’t you know it – Chad came three weeks early, emergency cesarean section. Suddenly Mama had a family of six living there, and a family of five from West Virginia coming to stay to see the new baby. How do you put eleven people in two full beds, two twin beds, and a bassinet? It worked out because of my selfless beautiful God-loving Mama. And several pallets of quilts on the floor.

I am glad to have grown in the shade of my giant of a Mama. Linger long enough with your memories to be thankful; then grow forward.

Trisha’s Coffee Break

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Patricia Ward, Trisha's Coffee Break, 2013-2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog's author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Patricia Ward, Trisha's Coffee Break, with appropriate direction to the original content.

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