The old table...faithful always!

It is true that inanimate objects are not alive as we are...breathing, socializing, interpreting life, etc., etc....and yet they can certainly have a life of their own as they serve their purpose in our lives...  

Rocks making paths through parks feel the dead beats of feet and body bowed low by worry; made heavy by saddness; or lilting lightly along by happy news or games.  Oh what a rock could announce!

A forest where privacy is tree-wrapped securely...Oh, those trees hear it all as people converse on the paths through their cool folliage.  Or sit beneath them to enjoy the delights of a picnic basket. Oh, What a tree could announce!

The paved trails of nature hikes and running competitions...drops of sweat along the trails and pounding rhythms from folks hoping to find their way to championships.  And fair-weather walkers intent on weight-loss or toning up.  Oh, what the pavement beneath our feet could announce!  

Breakfast table all across the neighborhood..."Hurry Johnny; you'll be late."  "No, Sally, that skirt is too short...put on another, and hurry!"  "You need to eat more than that Kids...you have Friday tests today!"  "Why am I just hearing that you need $5 for a field trip ... and it's when? TODAY?!"  Oh, what family frustrations a table could expose!

I clearly remember the rushed nature of breakfast on 'school days' at our house.  No kitchen table or eating 'bar.'  Meals were mostly of a formal nature at our house.  Breakfast time was never really a time to relate to each other.  And I remember when company came...I was always so excited to meet new people.  Lunch and dinner were expected to be a time of exchange...not just eating, and permission was required for leaving the table. Oh, what our habits and mistakes and successes are drilled into the walls of our homes!  My! What the walls of home could anounce!

There is a photo of this beautiful dining room table and accompanying hutch/buffet on the Internet.  It's price is a very FIRM $1200, though it is truthfully priceless. It is Drexel and a true vintage piece. 25 years old is 'vintage'...50 years is 'true vintage' and 100 years is "antique'. At 60 years of age this furniture is True Vintage and from one of the oldest American furniture manufacturers. Not to mention it graced the formal dining room of "The Porter House" on Church Street.  And here remains the story of our family's 'innate' block of pecan wood...the old wooden table that knew and kept private our family stories.

A lot of my youth was spend in a small town where my Dad was well known.  Though Dad had built many houses in our town, he did not build the one to which his name is still attached, "The Porter House" on Church Street.  I suppose it was because Mom and Dad rennovated it from top to bottom that year before my big sister's wedding.  Everything was pink...the walls, the brick fireplace, the curtain valences and drapes Mom made.  Because the wedding colors were pink and white.  People were just naturally curious and came to the door asking to see it.  We always obliged.  Life was so very exciting that whole year...parties and  more parties, pretty new dresses made, of course, by Mom!  Testing cake, mint, and other delights so Mom and Sue could choose what would make Sue's wedding just perfect.  Again the dining room table was the largest flat surface in the house for displaying these delectible samples and later the boxes and boxes of beautiful wedding gifts.

The value of this table stands in conflict with itself. It is no longer perfect. Yet. It is made perfect by it's history of family love gatherings.  The little scars bear the ligitimacy of its long and blessed life: bite marks on legs gifted by collie puppy "Laddyboy" as he cut his teeth.... Tiny knicks - the patina of family service - having born the footed trays of fragrant pot roasts....and baskets of Mom's or my fresh baked yeast rolls ... miniscule knicks of the scissors that cut the beautiful chantilly lace of my wedding gown 52 years ago...three layers of seat covers attached by me to the graceful lines of matching chairs because jelly-fingered toddlers and oily Esso uniforms were welcomed to our table the same as the silk suits of visiting ministers. Oh the tales and tears kept sacred by this innate yet living tribute to once standing pecan hardwood forests! Like the graceful swaying of tree branches in the forest winds...so did a family who sat round the old wooden table hold to its grace at meals, too formal for today's hurried life...meals where plates were passed from Dad to Mom for filling as they knew the nourishing portion needs of each daughter. And sitting there conversing together led greatly to my love of words and even yet spares me the embarrassment of careless grammar ... such laziness not acceptable ("Didn't we provide you an education?!!").

What happens to old beloved tables with memories held tightly

I will never forget making my own wedding dress.; shining my shoes, making corsages and boutineers, party favors, hairpieces for wedding attendants, rice bags tied with pretty white satin ribbon for guests, wrapping the old lanterns with flowers and ribbons for bridesmaids to carry down the aisle.  The beautiful dining table was the biggest flat surface in the house (carefully covered in newspaper) for such pretty, crafty activity.  

I recall how I despised homework!  And how much more difficult and endless it seemed as Dad wanted me to understand each math problem I missed when he graded homework.  Poor Dad!  Expensive private tutoring at that old table did not even clarify the mistique of Trig in high school.  I plundered on and dropped out at semester.  Through all of this and much, much more the one thing in our house that supported all of this activity was the dining room table....most definitely it belonged to Mom and her household pride was wrapped up in this inanimate object.... pride and joy glowed on Mom's face when someone asked about it!  Mom collected china and crystal for years before she suddenly learned that she could choose a formal dining set from a special catalog at Dad's business.  And how wonderful...Dad was ordering her a new dining room set!

That was 64 years ago.  Today this dining set adorns my home in an oversized room that can actually accommodate 3 extentions and 12 seats at the table.

It belongs to me now and can only be sold because my Mom is no longer here to see me sell it nor to watch it be loaded onto someone else's truck and taken down the road to a new home.

Because now I'm downsizing and holding the tears and sighs as I decide with what to part.  Truly I hope it goes to someone who will love this old table as much as we have loved it.  And perhaps this little story will express the true value of it's power in recording family history in it's grain and form.  

Oh what it could tell...the days family meals were shared as we loved each other; the guests it helped us entertain by way of good food and interesting conversation; the excitement of seeing Dad pull out the maps and charts signaling that vacation time on the West Coast was fast approaching;  with what tingling chills we all poured over the maps of states - choosing which state and national parks to visit that summer.  

And then there were the tears this old table absorbed into it's grain....I remember the sight of Mama crying at this old table when Dad had to bring home the news that my uncle (her baby brother) was missing in a desert in California - a homicide suspected.  And my dear Dad - how painful to him as he sat stoicly beside her surely wondering how he would help his 'three girls' get through this awful time.  As he sat at the old table, the weight of burden was observable on his slumped shoulders.

And we cried at that table when my sister miscarried her first baby, and when my fiance went off to war in the Vietnam era.  Tears fell the morning that my grandfather passed away in his bedroom and Mama was not there to help us as she was recovering from surgery in a hospital 50 miles away.  Dad, again the man with big shoulders, had to tell her of her Dad's passing in that hospital room..as the old table sat quietly far away.

Oh, what the beautiful, slightly scratched, aging table could tell!  

And,.........................................

....by-the-way, it might not be for sale any more!