If The Table Could Talk

When my grandparents first set up housekeeping they had an old rough hewn table.  My grandmother was not the greatest of cooks but she could hold her own and could not stand for someone to do without.  Many people rested their feet under that table.  Stories of moving here, suffering, birthing of babies, calving, and God were all shared at this table.  When I came along ny favorite place to eat was in my grandfather's lap sampling his soaky (bisquit with coffee).  That was such a big treat.  There were lessons done at the table, lessons learned at the table, music shared at the table, and a whole lot of love shared.  It was a place to discuss your day, share your dreams, and was never be meant to be a place where discipline took place.  My grandfather commanded respect at the table and he got it.  The table went to an aunt when my grandfather died and my grandmother went into assisted living.  My aunt had eleven children and there was never a dull moment at the table.  It was loud and boisterous now.  Discipline took place here, homework was done here, meals were consumed here.  The table now had different kinds of stories to tell.  Times changed again and now my cousin had the table.  It had teeth marks where babies had been teething, it's legs had been broken and fixed more times than Heinz has variety.  Yelling took place at the table now.  My cousin disciplined the children there, homework was done there.....then one day my cousin sold it for junk.  I don't know where the table ended up.  I woud like too.  I spent many hours around that table....listening, sleeping, loving.  What has happened around your tables?