The Lilac Tunnel: My Journey with Samantha

Setting the table should be a piece of cake, I’ve done it a million times, but when Elsa opens the dining room cabinet, I’m almost afraid to touch the delicate, gleaming dishes. They’re fancier than my grandmother’s Thanksgiving china.

Once a plate sits carefully in front of each chair, I breathe easier, until the silverware drawer stumps me completely: forks, knives, and spoons of every size and shape imaginable. I guess my best and arrange them carefully, then step back to admire my work.

Elsa squawks the moment she sees it, hands flying to her hips. This is a formal dinner, and it won’t do. She pulls out more silverware, rearranging everything while explaining where the fish, meat, and salad forks belong, plus soup spoons and salt spoons I’d forgotten entirely. Once the table’s finally right, she goes looking for something else to keep me busy.