Five Minute Friday is designed for Friday writing, specifically five minutes of uninterrupted patter of the fingers representing the thoughts of the heart, soul and mind. Our fearless moderator Kate Motaung  — with help from her Twitter friends — supplies us with the one word prompt and off we go! When done, we link up on the Community page on Facebook, then settle in to gently critique and soak in our neighbors’ work. I can’t wait to find new friends each week!

I invite you to join us in reading the wide interpretations and multi-genre presentations of the prompt. Or, better yet, try your hand! It’s five minutes (more or less) with few rules and no obligations. It’s fun (albeit sometimes challenging). It’s networking at its finest.

To help inspire you to join our group, I’ve included testimonials from writers as outlined in Five Minute Friday: A Collection of Stories Written in Five Minutes Flat. This week, I’ll share some words from Mary’s heart.

“For many months I sat down on Friday morning, took a deep breath and allowed myself the freedom to write for 5 minutes without the stress of editing. My Five Minute Friday times of writing were like breaths of fresh air, moments when I grew more than I could have imagined. I learned how to allow my thoughts to move out into the world without being absolutely perfect. When I stress over editing I begin to lose my voice, Five Minute Friday helped me find voice. I will forever be grateful for those five minutes.”

There you go. This week, the girls came up with TABLE as the prompt. Hmmm, that was an interesting choice. I do have to offer a writing tip and a caveat. Don’t overthink the prompt. Let the word seek out you imagination. The caveat: don’t be surprised if the prompt wakes you up in the middle of the night. It happened this week to me … 3:30. When it happens, seize the opportunity … and write!

The timer is set, so it’s time to GO…

I remember Grandma’s kitchen table, an extra thick stainless steel table with a large, heavy blonde base and legs. The top was brown checks on a cream base around the border, morphing into an intricate swirl design at the corners. Even then, much of the design was worn and blended together. There was always a bowl of nuts in the center — still shelled like walnuts and almonds. Sometimes there was fruit. Grandma always told me and my cousins to sit at the table as she gave us cookies and a cold glass of milk. On Sundays after church I would feast on jelly donuts at that table.

Fast forward to the Thanksgivings of my childhood. Turkey Day was a big family gathering with aunts, uncles and cousins crowding into our modest Sears bungalow. I would go to the … STOP

… big football rivalry game between Eastside — my dad and uncles’ alma mater — and Central. After the game we would head home, greeted by the concoction of smells coming from the kitchen. I joined my cousins at the kids table, until I graduated when I was about 12. Squeezed between my dad and aunt, and having to get my food myself, I think I preferred the kids table where I was king as the oldest cousin.

Fast forward to when my children graced the table at dinnertime. We always, whenever possible, ate together at the table sharing our day at a time before social media  was a thing. It was always — interesting watching the siblings at dinnertime   who was “stealing” a French fry from their sibling {until they were caught} … who had to have each part of the meal on a separate section of the plate, nothing touching … who gobbled down the food without realizing what they ate … which ones were the picky ones. We even had a food fight once in awhile, usually started by mom.

And then I think of another table, a celestial table. I am being escorted into the banquet room amid cheers from family and friends — some of whom I never met. “Come to the table,” the Voice says. With a smile and misty eyes {there’s no crying in heaven} I answer, “I think I  will.”

THOUGHT TO REMEMBER: 0Happy is the man who has broken the chains which hurt the mind, and has given up worrying once and for all. — Ovid