My Thanksgiving tablecloth, which I’ve already laid out on the dining room table has a checkered (pun intended) history. It began last August when my friend Claudia made me a birthday lunch and we carried it to a covered picnic area in a Bellevue park. She spread a cloth over the table and before she had even set out the food, I started to swoon. The bright and beautiful colors and pattern made it the most cheerful piece of fabric I’d seen anywhere in a long time. “Where did you get it?” I asked. “I really want this tablecloth.”
“Maria [a mutual friend] gave it to me, but I don’t know where she got it.”
I had to settle for taking a picture of the green, red and orange checks and stripes and posting it on Facebook.
Not long after that I ate lunch on another beautiful tablecloth, this one at friend Roberta’s house. “I bought three when I was in Paris,” she said. How perfect. My upcoming trip to Paris would include a quest for a new table covering. That night I announced my plan to my husband.
“You’re not lugging tablecloths around Europe,” he said, ending the conversation, but not my dreams of a Parisian tablecloth. I emailed Maria. “I love the tablecloth you gave to Claudia. I’m going to Paris next month. Did you buy it there?”
Her reply was not what I expected. “Oh, Ann, you are so funny. Paris. I’m still laughing. That was one of the kids’ sheets when they were little. I have more. I’ll see that you get one.”
So here it is. My lovely new tablecloth and I didn’t have to drag it around Europe in my suitcase. And if I need extra bedclothes…