It's an interesting place to visit, my head is, but not everyone would want to live there. Who really wants to feel existential angst over card table repairs?
The card table in question is one we've had for a quarter of a century or more. It's not surprising that it looks a little bedraggled, especially considering the hard use my very active kids have given it. In fact, what's probably most surprising is that the wear is confined to a few rips in the vinyl.
Now, N-son needs a kitchen table at his new apartment. A card table would be most excellent, because we really have no idea how long he'll be living there, and we're trying to make sure most of his furniture is the kind that is easy to move -- wire shelving, for example. Or, y'know, a beloved card table. So I'm hoping to foist this off on N-son as a way of pretending to be an incredibly generous mom.
On the other hand, the rips expose the porous cardboard/wood underneath, which invites much more serious water-based damage. So I decided to re-cover the table. It's a really simple repair, actually. Just turn the table over, unscrew the table top from the metal frame,. . .
. . . and then stretch the new vinyl across the table top. I didn't even bother to remove the old vinyl.
Screwing the table frame back onto the table (and making sure the screws pass through the vinyl) is enough to keep the vinyl taut and in place. I like how the blue just pops. Together with the red chairs we snagged for him, this'll be almost a super-hero-color combination for his apartment kitchen.
So what's the existential anguish? At the same time that I'm thrilled at
(a) finding a way to get a card table I no longer need out of my home and
(b) into the home of someone who can use it;
(c) saving a table from the landfill;
(d) repairing (because, fun);
(e) not paying big bucks for a table . . .
. . . at the same time as all that, I writhe because I bought new vinyl. Surely, part of my head tells me, you could have found a used table somewhere for less than the $9 that vinyl cost you. And of course my head says, that vinyl is yet another addition to the plastic monster taking over our world.
And so, I am happy to have repaired a table and even made it more beautiful than before, and I simultaneously fret about how I might have been yet a better steward of my planet's finite resources.
I should say that this is not a turmoil that keeps me awake at night or disrupts my life. I kind of like it, in fact, that my head wants me to be a better problem solver, because there are times my head convinces me to do some pretty awesome and clever things.
But the card table, it wasn't awesome or clever. It was okay. And I'm going to gift this okay table to my son, and pretend to be incredibly generous. And my son can have a super-hero kitchen, while being glad he doesn't have to live in my head.
The card table in question is one we've had for a quarter of a century or more. It's not surprising that it looks a little bedraggled, especially considering the hard use my very active kids have given it. In fact, what's probably most surprising is that the wear is confined to a few rips in the vinyl.
Now, N-son needs a kitchen table at his new apartment. A card table would be most excellent, because we really have no idea how long he'll be living there, and we're trying to make sure most of his furniture is the kind that is easy to move -- wire shelving, for example. Or, y'know, a beloved card table. So I'm hoping to foist this off on N-son as a way of pretending to be an incredibly generous mom.
On the other hand, the rips expose the porous cardboard/wood underneath, which invites much more serious water-based damage. So I decided to re-cover the table. It's a really simple repair, actually. Just turn the table over, unscrew the table top from the metal frame,. . .
Screwing the table frame back onto the table (and making sure the screws pass through the vinyl) is enough to keep the vinyl taut and in place. I like how the blue just pops. Together with the red chairs we snagged for him, this'll be almost a super-hero-color combination for his apartment kitchen.
So what's the existential anguish? At the same time that I'm thrilled at
(a) finding a way to get a card table I no longer need out of my home and
(b) into the home of someone who can use it;
(c) saving a table from the landfill;
(d) repairing (because, fun);
(e) not paying big bucks for a table . . .
. . . at the same time as all that, I writhe because I bought new vinyl. Surely, part of my head tells me, you could have found a used table somewhere for less than the $9 that vinyl cost you. And of course my head says, that vinyl is yet another addition to the plastic monster taking over our world.
And so, I am happy to have repaired a table and even made it more beautiful than before, and I simultaneously fret about how I might have been yet a better steward of my planet's finite resources.
I should say that this is not a turmoil that keeps me awake at night or disrupts my life. I kind of like it, in fact, that my head wants me to be a better problem solver, because there are times my head convinces me to do some pretty awesome and clever things.
But the card table, it wasn't awesome or clever. It was okay. And I'm going to gift this okay table to my son, and pretend to be incredibly generous. And my son can have a super-hero kitchen, while being glad he doesn't have to live in my head.
work, knitting groups, chorus... And I got to see M-friend this weekend (for her birthday)!
