Happy Birthday

to me.

What does 100 years mean to me? Something I’d like to attain. We’ve a quilt hanging,of flowers that was sewn by a great, great grandmother on my husband’s side.

I’ve an English oak gateleg table we’re moving tomorrow, just to another room to be a neat, nice desk for my husband.

The new Nunnery Desk, will be the “altar to food” in the living room. That table is packed up and awaiting sustenance in the form of oil that restores wood. So is my other table I bought over 20 years ago.

Both are about 100 years old, so is the quilt. My father started painting at age 80. I’ve framed three of his personal paintings and one dancer charcoal from a student he bought for me at a school showing many years ago.

What is the fascination with things 100 years-old? I’m getting furniture restoration tips from my mother-in-law, an expert. Quality of making the furniture and art is key. Dovetail joints. Thoughts and families and trees and paint (in a painting, I love oils or watercolors, but prefer wood in furniture look like itself) make a difference.

I prefer a newer home because older ones have low ceilings and a kitchen I cannot cook in, and one substandard bathroom to serve several bedrooms. We live small. My husband is tall. A high ceiling makes him feel more comfortable, as does a view.

This morning I’ll re-condition the old oak table/desk and we’ll move them to their spaces. A photo and thank-you will be given to the donors of the teacher’s desk from a local church.

My husband worked hard for this walking a refrigerator dolley up the street, just because I wanted this desk so much. Thank you, dearest love, for making this gift possible. Dee

 

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