Dining memories

I shipped my oak, six-seater dining table
10,000 miles (or so)
from Washington State, America
to Victoria State, Australia
just over two years ago.

It languished, taken apart
piece by piece
arm by arm, seat by seat
in cardboard and duct tape
stored underneath my house.

In time for Thanksgiving this year
the set was put back together,
dusted and polished
to seat extra guests;
an overflow of people for the celebration.

Since then,
the table and chairs have migrated
to the large, long living room
at the front of our house.
I use it now for careful thinking.

My view is from two floor-length windows
across the verandah to my south-facing front yard;
sunlight spills in on a summer morning
and seasonally, there are wattle trees and roses
in bloom.

Sporadic traffic
flows by on the nearby arterial road
to Smythesdale and Scarsdale;
I can see when my husband
comes home.

My laptop sits on that 20-year-old table
along with myraid books and
notebooks and pens,
my cell phone
and anything else I need for creativity.

But today
as I chatted on the phone
with a friend, I noticed
hardened gunk on a swath
along the edge in front of where I sit.

My thumbnail
turned up crusty "stuff"
and I don't know how
it escaped my cleaning.
Eewww.

But...

Perhaps it is leftover
from another Thanksgiving
or Christmas meal or just plain dinnertime
that my children and I shared, years ago.
If so, I don't want to get rid of it.

Another memory.
Petrified though it is.

Perhaps I will
just steer visitors clear of that
portion of table
and make it my own.
A shrine to Jason and Kim and me.

Maybe I should focus more on cleaning the other dining room table
that has newer memories.