Now that everyone in this house works for Shoprite (Mick is finishing his last delivery driver training today) the days of the week and their traditional functions are moot. We have no weekends because none of us gets two days off in a row, nor are those off days guaranteed to be on Saturday and Sunday. Well, one of mine is. I do NOT work Sundays. Sebastian’s days off rotate because his department is so small it’s tough to keep to a regular schedule that serves everybody, so they doe-see-doe around to accommodate doctor’s appointments, class schedules, and Life in general. Mick is now a wild card also. Technically he was hired to work the 4-9 shift but the drivers cover things in a needs-be patchwork too.
The family dinner is a thing of the past.
Oddly, I mind this more than I thought I would. Since moving into this house we’ve ALWAYS had dinner in the dining room. No distractions. No electronics. That ritual of food, talk, and togetherness was lovely. (BTW, we’re not fancy, my kitchen is just too small to have a table.) Even at the old house family dinner was expected. How many were eating was always up for grabs, but the table was set and the cooking done to include any and all. This atheist finds the communal breaking of bread and sharing of our days almost a holy thing. A touchstone and an anchor in an increasingly fractured and divided world, our family dinners provided continuity and cohesion. Shared jokes. Shared values and expectations. Heck, even how to set a table and eat with manners was a constant. Always administered gently, my dinner table has never been a rigid place with the day’s crimes reported and the lessons slapped on with a stiff trowel. I’ve taught my sons that manners weren’t a scorecard, they are a kindness. The ‘correct’ fork isn’t important, being an appreciative eater and an interesting helpful guest is.
And now thanks to the capriciousness of the retail schedule the family dinner here at Casa Sage is history.
And doesn’t that suck?