As promised, here is an after picture of what I lovingly refer to as my tiny table. Compared to other furniture I have refurbished, this was simple. Maybe because it’s tiny, it doesn’t have any ornate woodworking, and was easy to disassemble, which allowed for simple sanding and staining. Or, perhaps, it’s because it is my first piece that has any significant sentimental value.
Though I do not specifically remember seeing this tiny table sitting by my grandma’s bed, just knowing it was there each day to hold some of her essential items provided me with a sense of closeness to her as I worked on it. As I sanded, I noticed notches and scratches in the wood and my mind created different scenarios about how they resulted over the many years she owned it. Candle wax had spilled on the top and dripped down one of the table legs, splashing on the bottom tier. I imagined her lighting the candle on the table just before she began praying the Rosary, then blowing it out too forcefully when she had finished, causing wax to splatter. I imagined her falling asleep on her bed while listening to one of her books on tape, and the wick peacefully burning out as the wax overflowed down the table. I imagined her arm nudging the table, shaking the candle and spilling wax, as she breathed her last breath and passed away. My mind wandered continually as I worked on this piece, remembering things from my summer visits as a kid and relishing the few visits I had with her when I was an adult.