Walls ain't got nothin'

Today I was making my daily 15 mile drive to UNI, my hand rested in it's usual place; the radio seeker. I admit I can't sit through an entire song and am certainly a track skipper. I paused when I heard the familiar voice of Celion Dion and her old song, "If Walls Could Talk", and it got me thinking... Walls ain't got nothin'. I think everyone will agree when I reveal my agruement. Celion Dion goes on about all the secrets bedroom walls have and quite frankly, on intimate levels we can be honest and agree, however, I have had more experiences, conversations, arguments, and laughs at the kitchen table. It sounds alittle stale and unexciting but how many secrets and memories does the kitchen table really hold... tons and unforgettable ones at that. The kitchen table is where I sat everynight at dinner and asked Jesus into my heart, ("just to make sure":)) I remember kneeling over the kitchen table to smell the delicious Saturday morning cinnamon rolls my mom made. The kitchen table witnessed many teenage rebellions as we stomped away from it, often enough. It held so many laughs as we watched Erik tear the sinfully ugly flooring up and as Dad stuck either carrots or kleenex in his nostrils. The kitchen table only knows what I did with my nauseating alalpha tablets. It knows the pain and laughter of Erik squeezing my hand too hard during prayer. It's sacred seating knows Jenny's experiments with Mary-Kay. The kitchen table always knew Peaches' hope of scoring the clean-up of an accidental spill while she panted at our feet. It holds 1st times and last times. It's where I saw Dad drink a bud light for the first time, where I first tasted sweet potatoe cassarole, where Jenny brought her first boy to dinner, where Erik tasted dog food, and where Mom had numerous first dishes. The wood frame has played as a ginea pig for wedding reception center pieces and as a ladder for lightbulb changes. It's heard the worst and the best news. It's heard I love You's and it's heard words to be kept secret. It's frustrated with the amount of the phrase "May I be excused?" it's heard but loves that it's taught us manners. It knows of sister's quiet late night snacks and malicious TP plans. The kitchen table experienced 5th grade writers block, 8th grade messes, 11 grade break-ups, and parenthood tax days. The secrets and conversations it's heard has guided all it's inhabitors into adulthood and helped us through middle school drama. Will and I have the Jorgensen's OLD kitchen table and everytime I sit in it I think of blowing bubbles during play group. I don't even KNOW what secrets this kitchen table holds but it's about to make some new ones.