When I think of “Kitchen Table Wisdom,” I think of my mother’s kitchen as I was growing up– political discussions, social justice, civil rights, the end of all war, spiritual reality all with coffee brewing 24/7, back kitchen door open to reveal bird song and neighborhood bustle.
My mother had a morning schedule she followed religiously: up to do yoga, a short meditation, coffee, reading, house cleaning once a week with our Amish cleaning person who came from rural Lancaster county to do the work. My dad dutifully picked her up and took her home, again.
In the summer, my parents belonged to a swimming pool that allowed people of color to belong. My parents participated in a “swimming pool suit” to put an end to discrimination at local swim clubs in the 1960’s. We won but it took time to see the results.
I remember a movement of discourse, community and camaraderie happening in my mother’s kitchen. All opinions were allowed, although those who showed up generally agreed on all matters of importance.
The religious right weren’t banned, nor un-welcomed. Inside that kitchen, magic happened where free thought flowed, laughter erupted, a hint of grand potential was birthed in all who participated. A memory now, a movement then.
My mother’s kitchen, something I always aspire to, in my own style.