It was a sacred space. My Grandmother(whom I called, simply, "Ma") kept it perpetually spotless. Apart from those gatherings, I could only observe the dining room from the threshold of an entrance leading away from the kitchen.
It was not to be disturbed, which, of course, gave enormous significance. As a child, I'd stand safely on the acceptable side of its border and take it in: A long shining wooden table perched steadfastly over a golden rug. At one end, an oaken cabinet with glass doors, behind which my Grandmother kept fine China and glittering Swarovski animals. At the other end, a living room is designated for after-dinner lounging. Even the smallest step into this restricted space might tussle the rug just so, revealing my trespass. So, l'd wait impatiently for those nights when she'd welcome us into this forbidden room to serve us a feast she'd spent all day preparing.
As a gift from the heart, I wrote this play to recreate the tradition of sharing and celebrate the bond we form when we enter a sacred space together, creating lasting memories around wine and food.