Monday, May 14, 2012

Twenty Bucks, Pine, Rap

I've wanted this table for god knows how long — at least twenty years. And about this same time last year, I had the notion to tell my neighbor Roy to look for one for me. Roy is, among many things, a hauler. ("No job too odd.") You pay, he takes. A lot goes to the dump; the remaining treasures he sells at one of his summer garage sales. So much of what I own came via Roy, and some of what I no longer own departed in his pickup. I'm luckier for it — all of it, both the coming and going.

But I neglected to tell Roy I wanted this table: solid wood,  sturdy, able to withstand some abuse, as I own not a stick of furniture that is precious. It needed to be big enough to take a stack of books, a bouquet of flowers, a teapot —

Just last week I was cursing (again) the rickety, ugly "thing" that stood between my sofa and love seat and ended up a dumping ground for mail, wine glasses, old New Yorkers. I entertained a fantasy of burning it out back in the fire pit.

Saturday, I saw Roy's YARD SALE sign at the end of the street, and walked the half-block to his house. As I turned the corner, I saw it: pine, 30x60", a bit banged up, with two small drawers.

"How much for the table?"

"Thirty-five, but for you T., I'll take twenty."


His son and I lugged it back to my house (slowly, heavily) and on the way he filled me in on the latest developments in his rap group, comprised of him, my son Nelson, and Roy: two skinny white guys and the old dude who does background vocals. Their name: South Brandon.

I took a steel wool pad and some dishwashing liquid to it and scraped off a layer of gunk to reveal an honest, solid table top. All it needs now it a light oil rubdown and I'm in business.

What should I ask for next?