My kitchen table is named Earnestine. I bought her when I was a teenager, this beautiful Victorian claw foot, ornately carved piece covered in no fewer than a dozen layers of paint. I spent hours in the garage scraping away at her with dental picks, listening to the Oldies station. We had plenty of time to get to know one another. And she’s stayed with me through thick and thin. From my first apartment to my first house to the home Dave and I now share together. I really can’t remember what the context of the conversation was back in our early couplehood, but somehow the question came up about what we would do if we had a fire. Dave replied, “I grab Earnestine and we get the hell out.” I think that may have been when I decided to marry him.
A few years ago we redid our kitchen and Earnestine became the focal point. She has served every purpose for me in our many years together from desk to end table and now breakfast table. Tucked against a south facing window overlooking a small pond, Dave and I spend a tremendous amount of time snuggled into the pair of upholstered chairs that flank her. Seated with my long-time friend, innumerable designs have been sketched out on napkins over lunch, knitting paterns get teased out of unruly skeins of yarn while dinner simmers nearby, or like now, the Christmas cake bakes in the oven as I write a post for our blog.
We’ve had a tremendously busy holiday season. Fantastic shows and a myriad of new venues have proferred new opportunities and spurred creative visions. The last packages have shipped and the studios have been sorted and restored to some semblance of order. All’s been done for our holiday customers that can be done. So I sit back at Earnestine again, leggings and thick socks, hot cocoa and glowing fire. I doodle over the Christmas menu, remember to check the cake, and settle in for winter’s peaceful slumber all the time dreaming and sheming for the new year to come.