Table Fetish?

Anyone who knows me knows I have this thing about tables. I always seem to have an abundance of them. Just this week, three different tables have occupied this very spot. Earlier this week, a little drop leaf with two Windsor chairs took up space here. I picked that one up this past summer when I realized we were moving back into our house and no longer owned a breakfast table. My former breakfast table  (definitely one of my all time favorites) now lives at my son's house. My little drop leaf found a new home just a few days ago. The space sat empty for a few days until we moved our newest table, a square counter height table with two bar stools into the breakfast room. That was a temporary move. That table is moving to a new home next week.
The table in my breakfast room had been sitting in storage for several months, before that, it lived at my sister's house, but before that, it had a long history at my house. As a matter of fact, hidden under this table cloth are scars that have more than a few stories to share. Stories that include homeschooling not only my children, but a little boy named Joshua that lost his life to cancer at six years old and a middle school aged girl who was struggling in public school. Her mom and I became the best of friends, sharing a cup of coffee and our lives at this same table. She is gone too-cancer also. This table has moved with us from house to house. We have shared birthdays, holidays, and family dinners all at this table. I completed my bachelors and master's degree at this same table. We planned my daughter's wedding around this table. We have fed missionaries and pastors at this table. My brothers, sisters, mother, nieces, nephews, and grandson have eaten at this table. It has seen hours of homework, sewing late into the night, tie dyeing, painting, and Play-Do creations.
Today, we went and got this table out of storage. I scrubbed it for two hours, and each minute of that time, I thought about this table and all the moments around it. We are going to have one more Christmas meal at this table. One more time before the chairs go live at another home and the table goes back into storage until my daughter is ready to refinish it. One more...one more table...and I finally realized what my obsession with tables is about. It isn't the table. It is what the table represents.  Tables are gathering places. They are places where memories are made. They are places where we live our life and share our stories. This table has lived about 25 years now. I hate to replace it, but I have to. My father in law's table is calling to me. It is an old table too-a Formica table with padded rolling chairs. I will need to scrub that one too, but as I do, I will think about all the moments we shared with him around that table. He is gone now, but the table is going to continue to live...at my house.
Hi, my name is Tina, and I have a table fetish. I am not in denial, and I don't need help to get over it. I am just going to sit down here at this table and plan the last Christmas meal I will share around it (That is until it finds new life at my daughter's house).