Who Cares What Nansi Thinks?

We're taking a couple of days off work this week. One of our projects is to strip and stain an old drop-leaf table that's probably been in the family for a hundred years. Mom said it belonged to her grandmother.

I only ever remember it being painted this horrible pea green. Who PAINTS tables???

I bought this environmentally friendly citrus goop that's supposed to strip paint off of wood. It smells nice. After a half an hour the paint started bubbling.

Under the green was black. Under the black was red. Under the red was cream. Then the natural wood.

As I stripped away each color, I tried to imagine where the table had been. I never remember seeing it at my grandmother's house. Only Mom's. And I don't know why she would have painted it green. Our house was never green.

Our house was always some form of blue. Mom loved blue.

Our living room was always decorated. The kitchen might have been festering with a weeks worth of dirty dishes, but the living room was always decorated. We had a four cushioned couch. Mom must have reupholstered that thing a half a dozen times in my life-time. When we got it, it had brown and beige vinyl stuff on it with some sort of pasture scene. HIDEOUS. The cobalt blue peacock pattern didn't improve it much.

There was a piano and an organ in the living room. My parents often hosted "after-glows" on Sunday nights. That's when the Baptists get together after church, stuff their faces and sing their hearts out. Good times. Oh yeh.

Our living room was HUGE. There was the four-cushioned couch, a deacon's bench, two recliners. Between the two recliners mom had a black iron stove that she used as a lamp table. We had powder blue sculptured shag carpet.

And in the entry way was the icky green table. It never fit anywhere. It's mine now. I'm trying to return it to it's original charm. But what if it was always ugly? Ah well.... back to scraping the years away and saying "hi" to the grandmas who tried to fit the little thing into their surroundings.