Healing
It is a warm morning and the third day of school for my youngest. The house is quiet except for the occasional popping of the tin roof as it heats from the sun. I am sitting in my big country kitchen at a table that was once much shorter by about 6 and a half inches. We took an antique table from Bruce's aunts house and turned it into a island type table, with mismatched bar stools, by adding feet. It's a bit wobbly, but it does the job. I remember a story my mother told me about a round table that sat in this kitchen. Earlier in the day it seems the kids had broken my grandparents table when they were goofing around. They panicked and stuck it together as if nothing had happened. When my grandmother set the table for dinner that evening, the table at some point gave way and everything fell on the floor. My grandparents didn't know the kids were the ones who broke the table, so they just looked at the mess, got up, and cleaned it all up....