Coffee table

When my parents moved from our big old Craftsman house to a two-bedroom condo they gave away a lot of furniture and housewares. Some of my friends were the happy recipients of a lot of what they gave away. Whenever I go over to my friends' apartment I eat out of my childhood bowls, drink from what used to be my ice cream mug and sit on the leather couch that feels just like home.

Today I was hanging out with these friends - eating out of their (my) bowls, lounging on their (my) couch, my feet up on their (my) coffee table. And this memory struck:

My mom was hemming some pants for me - a pair of jeans I had bought that were too long, as most jeans are. We were being meticulous about the hem - they were going to be a little shorter in the back, so the hem wouldn't drag on the ground, and a little longer in the front, so they wouldn't look geeky. (My mom was an expert jean seamstresses. She taught me what she knew and I sometimes patch and hem jeans in exchange for homemade scones.)

Because the hem was so complicated, and because I was so picky, my mom had me stand on our coffee table in the living room so she could see the hem more easily and so she could more precisely pin. I remember my dad watching TV and being confused as to why I was standing on the table in his way. I remember my mom pinning the jeans, having me step off the table to test them out, and adjusting the pins a few more times until we were both satisfied with the future hem. I remember prancing around on the table - this was the one time I was allowed to stand on it, so I wanted to make the most of it.

I'm glad my friends still have my parents coffee table - it means that every time I visit I'll picture me dancing around on the table with my pinned up jeans and I'll see my mom watching me, laughing.