Insightful “06880” reader Heather Frimmer writes:
Our dining room is a disaster zone. Used for its intended purpose once, or at most twice a year, the room now serves as an ad hoc storage unit.
The sideboard is covered with paraphernalia for my husband’s volunteer EMS position — trauma shears, belt clips and extraneous badges. The extra dining chair in the corner is piled high with unwanted Amazon packages and shoe boxes, all awaiting printed labels before embarking on their return journeys.
The floor is covered with boxes of Polar seltzers cans and bottled waters from Costco, which haven’t yet earned their spot in the refrigerator.
Amongst this chaos, one thing is sacrosanct. The dining room table stands in the center of the room, untouched and oblivious to the disorder surrounding it.
The smooth, rich mahogany reflects the light coming through the front window. Four legs resemble the rear haunches of a lion, creating a strong, regal stance.
No one and nothing touches that table.
The Frimmer family, back in the day.
My husband and I bought the piece for our first home, a small condo in Norwalk. Recently engaged, we were eager to decorate our shared space.
When his mother suggested we peruse the expensive furniture store above Starbucks in downtown Westport, we obeyed. She is a woman of exquisite taste, and we knew nothing about home furnishings or where to acquire them.
Up to that point, the only furniture I’d ever purchased had been a Papasan chair for my dorm room, and a simple metal bed frame and mattress.
In the fancy store, we immediately knew we were in over our heads. When the saleswoman insisted the dining table would work perfectly in our room, we nodded in agreement and handed over our credit card.
We also created an elaborate wedding registry at Bed, Bath & Beyond. Armed with a scanner, we scanned everything in sight. China with gilded edges, cut crystal glasses, silver cutlery and various appliances we thought we needed. A quesadilla maker, an espresso machine and a charcuterie board with built-in drawers were all must-haves.
We would fill our home with lovely things, wake up cuddled in each other’s embrace, and create a wonderful family filled with endless love and joy. Our life together would be smooth and easy, and go exactly as we’d planned.
Twenty-three years, 2 nearly grown children and a dog later, we’ve faced our share of bumps in the road.
The Frimmers, much more recently.
Our older child came out as transgender, and changed their name and pronouns. Chronic illnesses, trips to the emergency room and caring for ailing parents have all marred the perfect picture, or perhaps made it more colorful and nuanced.
Because we received less than a full complement of tableware from our registry, I can count the number of times we’ve used it on one hand.
The waffle iron conked out during its first test run. The ice cream maker escaped its box last year, only to be locked back away when the final product turned out crystallized and unappealing.
Life, and more specifically marriage, is messy, cluttered and unpredictable, which brings me back to our dining room.
This year we hosted Thanksgiving dinner for my husband’s family, including our teenage niece and nephew. In the days leading up to the holiday it was all hands on deck: making grocery lists, procuring the necessary ingredients and preparing multiple dishes, and ridding the dining room of its usual clutter.
Thanksgiving dinner …
After we stuffed ourselves with turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce, we cleared the dishes and moved on to the entertainment: the holiday grab bag extravaganza.
We arranged our gifts on the coffee table in the living room, chose numbers and unwrapped packages. My 16-year-old son was inordinately proud of the gift he’d contributed, a portable ping pong net suitable for any table.
Somehow, after all the trading and finagling, he ended up with his own gift, likely his secret plan all along.
He and my nephew attached the net to our kitchen table, but the round shape didn’t lend itself to the game. When they tried the coffee table, they had to play from their knees, an uncomfortable proposition.
That’s when the boys asked if they could use the dining room table instead.
I refused. If they played there, the top would be covered in permanent dings and scuff marks in no time. I couldn’t allow that.
But by the time I’d washed the serving platters, loaded the dishwasher and dried my hands, a rousing game had begun.
… and ping pong.
As I went to put a stop to the nonsense, the sounds from the dining room gave me pause. Amid the clicking of the ball on the wood surface, there was camaraderie, chatting and laughter — so much laughter.
All 4 kids gathered around the table, playing, giggling and cheering each other on.
Rather than worrying about SAT scores or friendship drama or whether their gender-affirming medications would be available for the next 4 years, they were enjoying each other with the help of a simple game.
How could I put my foot down now?
This montage was my dessert, more delicious than pecan pie or apple cake could ever be. I made eye contact with my son, and gave a nod of assent.
Since then he’s asked me to play with him every day, often sharing news from his life as he serves, volleys and puts extra spin on the ball.
So my dining room will continue to accumulate unwanted packages and Costco purchases. And now our precious table will collect scratches and scrapes, well deserved scars signifying a worldly maturity.
If and when we use the table for dining once again, likely not before next Thanksgiving, I’ll throw a tablecloth over the top and call it a day.
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This was just lovely.
So Good!!!!!
Thank you Heather!!!
Love this, Heather!!
What a wonderful story…glad the table has found a special purpose in its life!
We started using our DR table daily when our sons became teenagers and the smaller kitchen table became tight for the four of us. We used a more casual table set up – a runner and placemats – and lit candles nightly (and no phones at the table). It was nice time spent together as I trust your daily ping pong is with your son.
You set a beautiful holiday table…not a scratch or ding to be seen when covered by a tablecloth.
Thank you for the delightful slice of real life.
Lovely story and beautifully written, thank you for sharing!
What a great story and wonderful way to start my day!
What a delightful read and a good lesson, I’m sure, for many of us.
Such a good reminder about ‘stuff’. Such a a lovely way to start the day. Thank you, Heather!
Beautifully written reflection on real life in a loving family; thank you for sharing, Heather!
what a beautiful tribute to being present in your life. a true gift! Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for sharing this wonderful story, Heather!
You are an amazing writer! I especially
appreciated it because our family also plays
ping pong every day- a sport that all
generations can enjoy together.
Heartwarming.
LOVE, LOVE, LOVE this story!!! This is what life is nicks and dings and memories!
I think everyone can related to the dining room/storage closet analogy. And what a beautiful metaphor to describe how life is full of changes, dings and scuff marks that are filled with love. Thank you for sharing your family story. May that dining room table continue to collect memories for you.
Thank you, Heather.
Love this Heather and thank you for sharing your new and beautiful family tradition!
Thank you, Heather. I loved reading this! The rest of the day has a hard act to follow.
Heather, what a great story!!
You reaffirm that beautiful things are to be used. Seems like your family found the happiest way to use the dining table!
As an interior designer, I heartily agree with this message. Houses are for living; made richer by the dings that show as memories are made.
A beautiful account of a piece of furniture that has given so much to a family that has given so much to Westport. Thanks Heather and Dan.
Love this so much. : )
Love this story, Heather! Great start to my day!
Thank you for the story, I am actually tearing up. Both from the similarities to how our family life is and from the poignant appreciation for familial connection. Life is messy, enjoy it.
This story reminds me of the ping pong table downstairs in our house while growing up in Westport. The dining room table was off limits for anything but eating dinner. But the ping pong table was a catchall for practically everything: a Girl Scout cookie distribution center, stacks of clean folded laundry, mail, school books, a place to set groceries before they went upstairs.
When I or my sisters had slumber parties we nestled in our sleeping bags under the ping pong table so we didn’t have to move all the furniture out of the way
.
What a beautiful story, Heather! So well written and I can absolutely relate! I call our dining room “the dumping ground”. P.S. Ben is a gift to the CMS theater program
To the Frimmers: thanks for brightening my day. You capture a great deal in one column; it deserves a wide audience. Perhaps I’ll use my wish for the day to wish that Prez T reads it and somehow grasps that sex – and gender – are, like most things in life, messy, complex, and ever changing. Thank you!
Just beautiful, Heather. Now you have regular occasion to give thanks.
Beautiful story! Thank you for sharing!
Wonderful story. Thanks for all you do.
Great story, great family.
A wonderful, heartwarming story.
Love this story! When I was growing up in Westport in the 1960’s the ping pong table in the basement came upstairs and was covered with tablecloths to make enough room for our giant Passover Seders.