Dreams Of A Dinner Table

Dreams at FoodPractice.com

I’ve been quiet here.  The rush and constant movement of traveling has made it hard for me to find a rhythm for my writing.  Even more-so difficult with food and how much I’ve been taking in and learning. I have some reviews of amazing places to share, but you know my heart lies with the culture of soul we bring to the dinner table and to our kitchens.  So posts have been scarce as I absorb the affects of being away from my own kitchen and the ability to cook.

By the time I get back home it will have been four months of traveling through Asia.  It’s been an amazing experience and so deeply inspiring.  I return with so many ideas and epic photographs and memories that will last forever and that have grown the bond between Jon and I in ways I could never have imagined.

But I’m worn.  This introverted soul is ready to return home, incubate and quietly replenish after so much stimulus and input and expansion.  I’m ready to hibernate even though we are smack dab in the middle of Spring.

For weeks now I’ve woken up with the very real knowing that it was time to return, as if a beacon had gone off in my little home on Maui, signaling the need for my return.

This scene in the image above seemed like a postcard from home.  The home on Maui, the home within.

I’m dreaming of quiet dinners at home by candlelight at a table filled with dishes I prepared.

I’m dreaming of whispering dreams and future plans of the books that are being written to reconstruct things like Thanksgiving, romantic dates, family night and sisterhood gatherings.

I’m dreaming of the romantic sides of Slow Food, Food Practice and healing out bodies with food.

I’m dreaming of the hum of my epic refrigerator and my cutting boards.

I’m dreaming of the tiffins that I found in Bali that are in Maui waiting for me to fill them with food to share.

And I’m dreaming of the deep warm wood of our table and the way it feels when I wipe it down after a meal.

The kitchen and dinner table are the heart beat of a home.  So much happens there.  So much more than our bedrooms and our studios or living rooms.  We feed, we cook, we gather, we nourish and nosh, and warm both our bellies and our souls in this space.  It’s the anchor of my house, and the place I feel most at home.

What does this space in your home mean to you?  Tell me.

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  1. You said it!

  2. My heart is melting into this post! I can smell the musky, earthy wood of the table!

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