rituals

At meal time, we always head to the same spots around the table, like goats in a barn. My father's stall was directly across the table from me. It seemed each evening, that a combination of weariness and bad manners would contribute to a shift in my centre of gravity. Slowly and inevitably my feet would extend under the table beyond my personal territory into his. A meal wasn't complete without my toes tapping his and his mock surprise and horror causing us all to laugh. The daily rituals of life shared are a comfort, grateful memory a gift.