table

i had nothing to write about today, so i asked shaun to give me a word. i should have known better... he said "table."

strangely enough, i have a few thoughts on the subject. you see, my daddy was a carpenter--no, he was a fine furniture maker. he made tables and chairs and armoires and swings and benches and jewelry boxes and cubby cubes (personal request of mine!) and baby doll cribs. he even made cedar chests and chests of drawers and headboards and stools. he used cedar and cherry wood as well as (my favorite) maple and cypress. one of my favorite things he did was use wood pegs instead of nails. if he used nails, they were old and rustic and lovely. 

my dad (his name was van) had very strong opinions about furniture. when i requested square box cubbies, he had a hard time keeping them simple. but i pleaded, and he made them very streamlined just for me. i love them. they are made of cherry and the longer i have them, the more rich and beautiful the grain becomes. did you know that? as cherry wood ages, it's color grows deeper and the grain becomes more pronounced. 

his furniture was strong and feminine and graceful and rooted. it was heavy and solid, yet most of the pieces have an air of playfulness about them. my dad told me that when i slept, the furniture pranced and danced around my bedroom. my bedside table had legs so lovely any woman would fight for them. his furniture had curves and lines that could inspire, but they were hella hard to keep dust free. i loved dusting, mostly because i could run my little fingers across the smooth and delicious chocolatey surface, wiping away a layer of dust and unveiling a shiny and wonderful piece of art.

so, as i think about tables, i think about my dad. i think about the habit of keeping a large piece of cedar in my clothing drawers and closet. 

and i think about my dad's ability to make magic out of everything, including tables.