By Trina Machacek
Recently there was a chance that a couple would be coming to my home for dinner. With them they were going to bring their two littles. One just at two years old and would need his own seat and the other still fed while perched on momma’s hip. Delightful. I am not set up for little people in my home. Oh, I have no problem with little ones. Actually I rather enjoy seeing them go from one tabletop to under a cabinet and seeing all the things that I have on display.
Trina Machacek
I am far past worrying about things getting picked up and dropped. I have vivid memories of being the little one and going to visit an aunt or other homes where “children are to be seen and not heard.” Along with the glare and stare that said, “DO NOT TOUCH!” My home is very touchable. If I still had a piano, I would encourage banging away with abandon. Oh how I remember seeing a piano and wanting to just feel, hear and bang on it when visiting the old lady down the street that had chintz curtains, and we had to take our shoes off way out at the curb. I vowed my home would always be open to littles.
I take a bit of happiness in not being that house. It might be different if I had Ming Dynasty stuff. But. Yes, a well-worn and comfortable “but.” My stuff is to be enjoyed and if it goes into the great beyond by slippery hands, so be it. It is so freeing to finally be able to realize that “stuff is just stuff.” Move on Machacek.
That dinner did not happen for reasons that are not important. The thing that did happen was a few memories surfaced and I chuckle at them now. The digital age reared its head in a very unique way. Thinking of having this little family for a meal sets into motion not only what to cook, but also, without having the aid of a highchair, how to feed the food to little people who don’t fit into seats for grown-ups. Ah! The phone book! That home grown bumper seat. That extra five to six inches of height set on a chair to raise one’s whole self-up to table top to gobble and laugh and spit and enjoy being part of the celebration of a meal with friends and family.
Do you see the problem yet? When was the last time you held a full sized, white pages with yellow pages and maybe center green pages phone book? How old were you when you last went out on your front porch and saw—THE NEW PHONE BOOK IS HERE!
The magic of a phone book, a full set of Funk & Wagnall or Britannica encyclopedias, one of those five-inch-thick dictionaries to grab and use as a seat, is gone. Is there an alternative? What would it be? The hunt begins. First you would think of maybe a handful of magazines or catalogs. Oh, that digital age has crept in and save many, many trees for sure. However, to get a two-year-old up to the table to be part of a meal is not easy when all you have to set them on is a plastic, flat, laptop. Books! Yes, a few books. Well enter the electronic books or even audio books. Oops. Hard to balance a kid on a couple of ear buds to eat mac-n-cheese. Now there’s a visual for you.
Summers were when the new phone books were delivered. By hand, by people going up and down the streets placing books on porches and stoops. You usually got one book per phone per home. The absolute wonderment of looking up your family name in that huge, heavy book. Sitting in the sunshine on the cool cement of the porch. Looking alphabetically until you get to the R’s or M’s or whatever your last name started with. Closer and closer until there it was. Your family. Your name and phone number. Intricate simplicity of days gone by.
In the end they did not come to dinner. We did have some fun outside this summer in the grass where we were actually all on the same playing field. The littles just a bit closer to the action of stink bugs crawling across blades of grass as I watched from a standing position.
I know there are alternatives to what was. I know change is inevitable. If it comes up again, I have a plan. A turned upside-down pot on a chair will work. Tie the little to the slick seat and watch the show.
Trina lives in Diamond Valley, north of Eureka, Nevada. She loves to hear from readers. Email her at itybytrina@yahoo.com
