Not too long after we moved into our current home a friend of mine who has a knack for finding furniture on the cheap and then painting it colorful fun picked up a large table she wanted to resell as was and without painting.
She sold it to me. Along with maybe six matching wheat-back chairs. Most of which have somewhat fallen apart over the years.
It’s a simple table, solid wood block-style base with a (what I didn’t realize was a veneer until after was almost done refinishing it) oak finish.
It fits in my dining room. With no room to spare.
With its two leaves–which now are permanent fixtures–it can seat ten. But often sits more.
As with most horizontal surfaces in my house, it has a difficult time staying clear and has to be cleaned off weekly. At times the south end of it has served as a sewing table and as my desk. Currently it serves as my husband’s desk.
What I love about this table is how easily people will gather around it.
It somehow handles the excess of Thanksgiving 2.0. My Grandpa and Grandma Jacobs used to sit around it. I loved how they would tell me how dinner tasted so good–especially after having told me that when you get older you can’t taste so well. Along with my mom, who came for a few years more after they died. A few neighbors now and then.
It’s survived–along with all my tables–numerous cub scout activities.
It’s held hor d’oeuvres for parties a time or two.
Maybe served a softball or volleyball team dinner or two.
It serves as a great workspace for pie making.
But most importantly, it’s a great place for Sunday dinner. We’ve promised a seat at it to any nieces and nephews who move here for school. Along with those friends of our kids who are like family to us.
Sometimes what’s served on it is well planned. At other times it’s thrown together (sometimes rather desperately). But it doesn’t seem to matter.
As long as they feel the love.
[Day 64 of Ann Dee Ellis’ 8-Minute Memoir.]