Napkins matter.

We’re hosting Friendsgiving at our house this Saturday and in preparation for it, I’ve been thinking about the table set up.  I even visited Pinterest [Aren’t these gorgeous and fun?], something I haven’t touched since wedding planning.  My husband rightfully questioned my desire to make or purchase cloth napkins before Saturday.  After our debate on whether cloth or paper napkins are more energy efficient, we recognized we were clearly on different pages about the importance of napkins and table settings; imagine that?!  At the time of our conversation, I didn’t really know why table settings and cloth napkins were so important to me, but I knew that they were.  After a little digging, I think I know why.

I spent many-a-Thanksgivings around the antique wooden table [or the card table designated “Kids Table”] in my Nana and Papa’s dining room.  Like a game of sardines, we crammed ourselves into rooms and corners of rooms. It was cozy and probably fire hazardous.  There were always new faces in the house.  Nana and Papa are known for their hospitality and their knack for talking to strangers, so sitting across the table from a new friend is quite a familiar situation for me.

Thanksgiving Day usually started with a little tennis in the park, or shooting some [basketball] hoops in the driveway where Papa showed us his latest hook shot and someone got in a fight or sprained an ankle.  After running around outside for the better part of the morning, I was called to the kitchen by my Mom for a very special task–making a name card for each guest.  I delighted in this task for several reasons:

I was good at it.  My brothers may have been able to outjump me on the basketball court, but I could “out-penmanship” them.

I also loved knowing in advance who we were expecting to join us at the table.  [What time are Uncle Jim and cousin Kelly coming?]  How fun that I got to prepare the place for each guest.  It was in this careful writing and placing of name cards that we thought about each person joining us on that day.  And, no matter who you were– close family, new friend, girlfriend, neighbor– there was a place for you at the table.

Part of setting the table was placing the decorative napkins next to each plate.  Nana insisted we use pretty napkins and good china, even at the Kid’s Table.  [My brothers and I remember being told that decorative napkins were the perfect hosting gift when we were a guest in someone else’s home.]

Arranging the name cards next to the plates was a very special and interesting task, almost like a puzzle — who would get to sit next to Nana?  Who was skinny enough to fit in the corner between the table and the hoosier [in case you’re wondering what a hoosier is…] and next to the painting of Amish school boys?  Who needed to be closest to the kitchen to grab the platters for seconds?  Finding space and a chair for every person was a bit of a scramble, but it was important that there was a place, a space, a special setting for everyone.

My favorite part of this task was that all the women in my family were in the kitchen and dining room at the same time.  In between, “What time did the turkey go in the oven?” and “Do we have enough cherry pie?” my aunts, mom and Nana engaged with me, asking me about school, soccer, books, boys, etc.  Sometimes they would even tell me stories about my mom or about their childhood.  Some stories were repeated each year [Remember the time Uncle Matt put mashed potatoes in his pocket because he didn’t want Nana to see that he didn’t eat them?] and I didn’t mind the repetition because these stories were treasures for me.

It took at least fifteen minutes to get everyone to their place.  Once we all found our name tag and seat, Dad would lead us in a heartfelt time of thanks and then Papa would lead us in singing “Johnny Appleseed”.  Because we were all in different corners and different rooms, the prayer and song bounced off walls and around the house.  To this day, those unpolished voices singing in unison stand as one of the most beautiful and soul-filling sounds in my memory.

To me, cloth napkins and name tags mean childlike play with my cousins, laughter and stories with the women in my family, hide-and-go seek when the sun goes down, cherry pie [and ice cream, of course] with Papa, giving thanks while Dad sneaks a smile at me from across the room, belting the words of Johnny Appleseed until my throat hurts, and laughing at the next joke my uncle makes.

Yes, there will be cloth napkins on our table on Saturday.  Yes, there will be name cards.

And, the next time someone asks me why cloth napkins and name cards are so important, I’ll answer:

To be hospitable and to welcome others does not require cloth napkins and name cards.  [For the record, if it did require such things, I’ve been hospitable very few times in my life.]  But cloth napkins and name cards are a very small reminder that there is a place at the table for you and I want to sit with you.  I want to slow down and step away from the busyness of life with you.  I want to know, “How was your day?” and “What has impressed your heart recently?”

My dear friend and reader —

As you prepare for gatherings in the coming weeks and months, may the generosity in your heart be more attractive than the generous portions on your plate. May the bellies at your table ache from laughter, rather than too many mashed potatoes.  May you scramble to find one more chair because someone brought a friend.  And may there be plenty of pie.