Open Table

In college we held a weekly dinner. Unstructured and largely unplanned, we'd stretch a dinner to feed 15 or other weeks just 5 or 6. I can't even remember why we started, but I do remember the friends, the laughter, and that there always seemed to be enough.

When we first got married we had a few friends over for dinner almost every single week the first year. It was a great excuse for trying out all the kitchen gadgets and serving platters from our generous friends and family. I can't remember what we served, but I can recall many of the faces that came to our tiny apartment.

We've shared Thanksgiving and Easter with dear friends and occasionally with others we barely knew. For several holidays my brilliant chef-talented friend Alicia and I would create elaborate plans for the menu; and yet it is the wine and tasty roasted rosemary nuts that we consumed while laughing late into the night that I remember most.

Growing up my mother always espoused an open table at the holidays. Friends from college stranded far from home were always welcome. Friends close by were always over the second their own gatherings were done. There was always enough.

We've gotten busier, our dinner party habits have been broken. We still share our table from time to time, but the invitation doesn't reach as far as it used to and the faces aren't as varied. In the spirit of convenience, we have narrowed our circle rather than widen it further. Traded conversation for Real Housewives; homemade for home quick.

There are plenty of reasoned excuses to not make an open table a part of lives. But it strikes me as significant void being formed instead of filled. It doesn't have to be scheduled with the frequency and consistency of an after school special, but I believe inviting friends near and far, known and unknown to the table is the making of a life well lived.