All is fair in love and compromise: A kitchen table story
- Michelle Wood: SWCD
- November 5, 2017
- 1266
My husband and I find ourselves in the same discussion over and over. He is a dreamer and a taker-aparter of things, and because I can, I did just make up the word “taker-aparter.” It describes him perfectly.
We’ve had the same kitchen table since we were married: a $30 gem from the old Michael’s department store that used to be in Millersburg. She is long and sturdy, and I sanded her down, stripping the paint meticulously. I remember those paint curls that fell off her and seeing the beautiful wood that lay hidden underneath. I varnished her and watched her emerge from her painted shell.
We’ve sat for countless hours drinking coffee at her, ever banging our knees on the too-low piece of wood that was installed just below the surface on her as a display table. She was never meant to be a kitchen table, yet in the last many years of her life, that’s just what she was.
I sat highchairs up to her and fed my babies, placing casseroles and cookies on her to cool and eat. We’ve played endless Boggle games on her, and I’ve sat myriads of times at her listening to a teenager’s angst.
She’s held court for hordes of kids who have sat around her stuffing their faces or discussing important world events. My office is her surface and where I write my columns and schedule social media for my clients.
My husband and I have dreamt big dreams around her or banged our fists in anger at things we couldn’t change and those we could. She’s served countless Mexican meals and holds scars and secrets that she’ll never give up.
To me, she’s a member of the family.
The discussion we find ourselves in is the exact same one every time. My husband wants to revamp her, raise her up with new legs so we don’t bang our knees every day, paint her, and take some of her apart and put new things in place. And every time he brings it up, I say no, and we find ourselves in one of those marital “discussions” that are never solved.
He thinks I’m stubborn, and I think he should keep his taker-aparter mentality away from our kitchen table. Some things aren’t meant to be changed.
She first had wobbly chairs around her, ones we picked up at garage sales and made do with. Somewhere along the way we bought nice sturdy ones, oak, and those have held us around her for many, many years. I am not, however, attached to these chairs. I’m not an oak-lover, but the price was right, and they’ve been worth it many times over.
I bought a leather-seated chair with wooden arms from my aunt at a garage sale, and it’s the most comfortable chair I own. My husband also loves this chair, and we found another one very similar to it, bought it and placed it up to the table. We’ve come to a place where we are near compromise.
If we get rid of the oak chairs, hunt down and find more vintage leather-seated ones, he will give up on trying to take apart the table. That’s a compromise I can get behind. It also means I can stop hiding his crowbar so he doesn’t try to take apart the table when I’m gone.
I am now on a hunt for sturdy leather-seated wooden chairs to begin their life around my table. They must be solid and wide and be ready to fit into an empty nest. They must be able to cradle my sometimes-aching back and put up with many hours seated in them as I traverse word documents, essays and book-writing.
I don’t care what color the leather is, but it should be able to nestle a sleeping cat and take intermittent wear and tear from visiting adult kids.
I love repurposing and changing things, buying new couches and TV stands, changing my style and taste. But my kitchen table? Never. To quote our new-found obsession, "Game of Thrones," “Winter is coming. My table is my kingdom, and I’ll fight for it to my death. Prepare to fight or compromise.”