Place Cards and Clothes Pins

Setting the table is my favorite aspect of dinner parties and holiday meals. I remember hearing my mother say how silly she thought it was that my grandmother would set the table so early on the day of a dinner party. I have to restrain myself from setting the table a day or two in advance. It’s spiritual for me when I think about who will be coming over and how much they mean to me. I actually use the heirloom flatware and the cloth napkins and best wine goblets. I use chargers and gold-rimmed dessert plates and the antique rooster glasses. If at all possible, I try to use the iridescent, rainbow-colored Tiffany compote dishes Eric brought with him.

Once all the layers of adornment are complete I pull out the place card bag and begin to sort. For twenty-five years I’ve saved the place cards from every momentous dinner we’ve hosted and some that were a little less then memorable. The rectangular farm table seats eight comfortably, although for some Thanksgivings we’ve created extensions. If you have ever had dinner at our house you probably have a place card already in the bag. It’s rare that I don’t assign seating when we have guests. Digging through the bag is like counting the rings on the family tree. The place cards that match show all of us who have dined together on a particular occasion.

It’s bittersweet to start pulling out names from the past - my friend who died, my friend who’s no longer a friend, my ex-husband. My grandparents, who are long gone, but still so close to my heart, are represented. Some of the place cards were handmade by the girls when they were little and could barely write. I’ve saved turkeys shaped like little fingers and colored with crayons. This year I got out place cards for our daughters who are far away at school and couldn’t be with us.

I’m not just sentimental about place cards. Clothes pins, too. My grandparents wrote each of our names on a wooden clothes pin. When we visited they would attach one to each towel. It was fun to run to the bathroom and find our own towel and it felt so welcoming. When I grew up and had company I did the same. I saved the clothes pins and now have a jar in the bathroom filled with them - nieces, nephews, friends from New York, the French students we hosted one time. Little ghosts from visits past, they’re all there.