My husband stared in bewilderment as I smoothed my hand over the heavy table and pronounced instantaneously, This is it! After weeks of shopping and arguing, we finally decided on a dining room table. Strike that. I finally decided on a dining room table. Matt, my sweet, darling, stylistic bachelor, would’ve been just fine with a baby pine table and four matching chairs from Ikea. In fact, his last table was a baby pine table with two standard chairs and a table bench. A bench. From Ikea. I’m not far off.
I can’t adequately explain why we need an extra large table. We are newlyweds living in an apartment so there was no logical reasoning as to why we needed a six-foot long dinner table made of restored wood. But I insisted we did. Each panel of wood means something. The dents and bruises and stains it has acquired represent moments, shared moments, with people we love. Around food. Making memories. Eating food.
There are a few empty nail holes and even some unmatched panels, but it’s so perfect for our home. In fact, all the furniture in our home is repurposed wood from different parts of Latin America. Restored wood, like restored people, is used, worn, and full of stories. We like our furniture like we like our friends: weathered.
But especially the table.
As far back as I remember the dining room table was the cornerstone of my life. Every painful, joyful, sad, or celebratory event occurred around a meal, with loved ones, at a table. The table I purchased had to be able to withstand death, absorb pain, sustain joyous moments, and endure weathered grief because a table welcomes the weary, seats the sick, and provides community for the lonely.
I’m not a chef, but I like to cook. And I’m not a writer, but I like to write. This blog has been my table where I can do my best to whip up something simple so we can sit around and talk about it. Thank you for being here with me.
Today is my birthday, and I’m about to go to work, sit in traffic, and eat a lunch I packed in a brown paper bag, but this right here is my table. And we get to share our joys, struggles, successes, and failure around a six-foot long table of restored wood.
Because I like furniture like I like my friends: worn, weathered, and restored.
Here’s to many more years around the dinner table!
Hi there! Do you use Twitter? I’d like to follow you if that would be okay. I’m undoubtedly enjoying your blog and look forward to new posts.