At Table

I've just started the latest endeavor in hand stitching that will most likely do me in. A table cloth is a very large piece of fabric. However, the inspiration has taken me and it is now almost a compulsion to finish it. A gift of thanks to my dear, darling mother for her unending help and in payment for the loss of an old tablecloth at my elaborate scheme of a dinner party.


The party was a glorious success, as I hope my bit of cloth will be. Something to eat on and spill on, argue, laugh, sip, ponder and just be, a tablecloth that becomes apart of your daily life is just as special as the beat-up table underneath.
Why shouldn't such beauty be used everyday? Why must the mundane be made drearier by reserving beautiful things for the rare special occasion? Perhaps my expensive taste is getting out of control, but...I like pretty things.