Submitted by Erin H.
When I was 10, if you called me a “chick”, I’d be ready to belt you. In middle school I would make sure to tell you that I preferred camping to shopping. My high school car had that bumper sticker that read: Well behaved women rarely make history. The dorm room featured Ms. Rosie the Riveter in its walls. I was women’s lib…at least, I was what I thought women’s lib meant.
But today, as I get the lasagna ready to go into the oven after I have just cleaned the bathtub, I’m smiling to myself. The word “housewife” keeps hovering over my head: sometimes slapping me in the face, sometimes just barely visible. I have a feeling I could ramble on for many pages about my evolving (revolving?)thoughts of what the women’s movement is/was, what “housewife” means, or what my role at home should/should not be called, but that has nothing to do with this experiment and I’ll continue to ponder these greater questions when I am eating “at the table” by myself tomorrow.
So what does this have to do with 28 Tables? When I read how my co-experimenters are reacting to their dinners at the table, I am reminded why I just spent the past 30 minutes in the kitchen. There is something soul-warming about making good food for yourself and the people you love. For me, “eating at the table” (most often) begins with pulling the cookbook out. Now, it’s even better when you cook with the people you love and if I wasn’t so hungry by the time Evan gets home, that would be scenario. But since my stomach can’t hold out, I’m content in the kitchen preparing dinner because I know it means enjoying the meal with someone who appreciates the efforts and will offer good conversation in return. Plus I know he’ll help with the dishes.