This isn't some wise tale about a table nor is a witty blog post about....a table. It's just a table. Not just any table. It's a table with a story. Probably not a very interesting one to some people but nonetheless it is to me and might be to you.
I first found this table under my mother's house about 20 years ago when I was
I had it moved down to my apartment and proceeded to smother it in paint stripper, which didn't work too well, trying to remove years and years of different coloured paints. I borrowed a belt sander from work and it seemed to do the trick. A quick couple of coats of timber stain and the table was worthy of a place in my apartment.
It's not the nicest thing to look at, it's probably not worth any money but it's just followed me all over the country, wherever I've gone. Up until recently, it was our main dining table but I felt like a new (second hand) one which matched our decor better so this table went downstairs, again.
It's one of those pieces that you just can't get rid of. It's so versatile. It's served it's purpose but it's too valuable to part with just yet. What about all the memories?
|Scratches from toy cars, knives, forks, scissors etc|
|My daughter's first attempt at painting her nails, aged 3|
Wet paper stuck to it from many a glued project
Do you have a piece of really functional furniture you don't have the room for but just can't part with?