Home fix-it projects are the rage among people these days. For me, getting my things out of storage after several years it has meant returning things to a condition to enjoy.
A case in point is my teak table. Five or six years ago it was a central piece of furniture in my home. I'd invite friends to come over for dinner or just an evening in my garden. I had a fire pit, a green and inviting space and, under a trellis, the teak table.
Maybe it was overdone. Maybe it was part of the ambiance of the space, but I put up miniature lights, candles, tiki torches (it was in the Midwest and there are those darn mosquitos). The grill would be going. A homemade sangria would be available. There were comfortable chairs for everyone.
Each winter the teak table would be put away. And each spring it would be returned to the garden. Moving the teak table was a two-person job. But five years ago, maybe six years ago, I tried to do it alone.
My partner at the time had become distant. Shortly we'd end our relationship. I suppose the teak table would represent the broken nature of the relationship. For, trying to set it up alone I broke a beam.
The teak table, and most of my personal things, went into storage for the half-decade that followed.
Today, in a new house, I've repaired the table. (We'll see if my work holds). Still, I cannot put it upright without help. The new partner doesn't have the upper-body strength to help.
Now the table stands as a sign of the pandemic. It can only be made useful by some sort of community assistance.
A case in point is my teak table. Five or six years ago it was a central piece of furniture in my home. I'd invite friends to come over for dinner or just an evening in my garden. I had a fire pit, a green and inviting space and, under a trellis, the teak table.
Maybe it was overdone. Maybe it was part of the ambiance of the space, but I put up miniature lights, candles, tiki torches (it was in the Midwest and there are those darn mosquitos). The grill would be going. A homemade sangria would be available. There were comfortable chairs for everyone.
Each winter the teak table would be put away. And each spring it would be returned to the garden. Moving the teak table was a two-person job. But five years ago, maybe six years ago, I tried to do it alone.
My partner at the time had become distant. Shortly we'd end our relationship. I suppose the teak table would represent the broken nature of the relationship. For, trying to set it up alone I broke a beam.
The teak table, and most of my personal things, went into storage for the half-decade that followed.
Today, in a new house, I've repaired the table. (We'll see if my work holds). Still, I cannot put it upright without help. The new partner doesn't have the upper-body strength to help.
Now the table stands as a sign of the pandemic. It can only be made useful by some sort of community assistance.
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