Tomorrow I will be one hundred yeas old. My life has been filled with so many events, from cutting cakes, to a whispered kiss and stained tear drops from a mother’s loss. I remember Thanksgivings from times past a spilled glass of wine, that left a stain and a toast to others from hosts feeling to profess a sentence of truth. A wife and husband discussed their life and if a broken marriage would last. I remember the rustling of china and dinner plates, young adults on their first date. Cracks and crevices have taken there toll. I can’t count the number of drinks that have spilled on me along with a trail of tears of joy and life that seemed so cruel at times. I’m that old oak dining table who has served families well. Time and generations flow, and like them I will also pass, and may end up as kindling wood in your fireplace but will forever glow.