Tuesday, December 6, 2011

The New Table

After LV's Grandpa retired from farming he started a little woodworking shop. You could tell that his farming hands weren't experienced in making fine furniture but that didn't keep him from trying and with twelve children and many grandchildren he had grand ideas of making a lot of things for his descendants. Each family was to receive a table and a stand. Each grandson would get a roll top desk for his 16th birthday and each grand daughter a china cupboard, and if family had any special requests he would try to fulfill those as well. This goal would keep him busy for as long as his health allowed.

LV was only ten when his family got their table from Grandpa. They set it up and admired the nice glossy varnish and were pleased at how far it extended. With a dozen extra boards to add when visitors came it would make that everyone would get to sit around the table instead of having to wait or find some other place to eat.

For some reason having a new table made that setting it and clearing it off after meals was a little more fun as well.

Not long after the new table arrived LV's parents went on their monthly shopping trip and left their children at home. The teens had things they wanted to do outside but LV had his own ideas on how to spend the day. He loved drawing and had plans to draw a big semi just like one that he had seen in a magazine.

He spread all his supplies out in front of him on the new table, carefully studied the picture of the semi and sketched it. After it was done he decided to color it as well. Crayons seemed dull compared to how vivid he wanted the colors so after rummaging around he found his mother's supply of different colored permanent markers. Setting to work he carefully finished his picture and then held it up to admire it. But instead of feeling thrilled at how great his picture turned out he was dismayed to see that the marker had bled through the paper and now the new table had big ugly spots of red and black.

He quickly got soap and a wet dish cloth and tried to wash it off but when that didn't work he looked around for something else. A stainless steel scouring pad was sure to work. Rubbing it vigorously back and forth across the offending spots he was pleased to see them disappear. But now he was faced with an even greater dilemma. Not only had the spots come off, so had the layers of glossy varnish. The new table was ruined!

When his parents came home they weren't very happy to see what had happened when they had been gone. The table had to be used in it's ugly condition until his mother had time to refinish it.


  1. Oh my! Poor LV! I had a similar situation as an adult with an antique dining room table handed down from my mother in law. I felt so sick when I saw what had happened. I can only imagine how terribly panicked little LV must have been! Well, at least his mother could fix it so that's a blessing!

  2. Oh, how hard he must have worked to clear those errors! And the look on his mother's face!! Such are the makings of memories and family tales.

  3. Oh my! Such an innocent mistake, but one of life's lessons, nevertheless. I'm sure it's one that LV will never forget. It reminds me of the time when, as a teen, I was dying some fabric black. This was when the dye had to be dissolved in boiling water. After I was done with the job, I poured the left-over dye into a glass jar to save - the dye was still hot & the jar cracked all around near the bottom, but did not crack open. Inexperienced as I was, I tried to carefully lift the jar to move it to a "safer" place in the kitchen. Well, you well know what hapened - black dye all over the counter, running down the cabinets to the floor! I don't remember how we cleaned it up, but most of it disappeared & I remember scrubbing for what seemed like hours. It was a lesson I never forgot.

    I enjoy your stories - thanks for sharing!

  4. Poor LV; at least he tried to clean it up. At least his Mother could fix it.

  5. Aaargh! I once wrote a note, leaning on an antique table. I was maybe in the second grade, when you still bear down pretty hard to make *sure* the pencil stays on the paper, doggone it, and I left a copy of the note on the table top, and also on the back of the paper.

    I heard about it at least once a month until my mother died.


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