The Gleaming Board

Today I polished the dining room table, rubbing the fragrant mixture of oils and beeswax first in circles, and then when the oil had soaked into the wood and left a dry film of beeswax on top of the table, I rubbed it in a long strokes until it gleamed. 

Then I chose a cloth for the center, this one a combination of bleached and unbleached linen that I had woven last year. In the center of the cloth, I placed a candle in a cat-proof hurricane lantern, and a red Dala horse.

My dining table is made of simple pine, and it’s not a family heirloom although it has enough dents and dings to resemble one.

It was rescued from a roadside tag sale some seven years ago  It was unfinished, stained with countless rings of coffee, and so filthy that I recoiled from touching it. But how could I abandon it? I have a soft touch for a piece of furniture that has been mistreated. This one was begging for some love. What sealed the deal was that it would just fit into the width of my Land Rover, and it only hung out a foot or so in length. I was ill-prepared for buying furniture that day, and had no rope to tie it in. I figured that if I drove slowly it would stay put. 

Not really. 

It nearly slid out of the car when I started to go uphill. I pulled the car to the kerb and fashioned a makeshift tether using the belt from a robe I’d purchased earlier in the day. I live in the Hilltowns, and the trip home was almost entirely uphill. Crisis averted.

In the weeks that followed, I sanded all the crud, stains, and neglect from the surface. There were some very deep digs and scratches that I couldn’t sand out, but I like them. It reminds me of the hard life that this table had, and it reminds me of who I am. I don’t love perfection, and I’m happiest when I rescue a friendly but miss-matched group of furniture from the roadside and invite them into my home.

My Gran would be horrified. She had a well-matched set of walnut furniture in her dining room, and while it had seen generations of use, the gentle scratches were barely perceptible. She used a concoction of dark furniture polish to keep it gleaming. Her grandchildren used to call that polish “Multitude of Sins” because she used to say it was the only polish that would cover a multitude of sins.

Mum had a oval oak dining table that she adopted when cousin L was forced to accept a table that had belonged to someone in her mother-in-law’s family. Maybe I get that furniture-rescuing gene from her. But not long after my father passed away, Mum replaced the table. She said that she didn’t want to dine with his ghost every evening. 

Right now, I would welcome few ghosts to the table. It’s been a long time since the the chairs have been full. It seats six (seven if you put two children at the foot). 

Come Samhuinn, I’ll set the table for six and invite a few ancestors to join me for a silent but jolly supper at the bungalow.