Good-bye, faithful painting table. You have served me for years. You started life as a free-cycled picnic table that accidently got paint splattered on it. From there, your three work surfaces were my weekend destination as we together transformed and created project after project. You had rings and squares of colors layered over you through the seasons, and you wore them with pride. I even quipped that it was load-bearing paint. Evidently, not load-bearing enough. Tragedy struck.
The. Workmen. Sat. On. You.
Yes, I came home to the blatant scene. They hadn’t even tried to cover their crime. The table top was flipped up and askew. And the whole structure listed to the left sharply. I knew bulk trash day was coming up, and I resigned myself to losing one more personal space during all of this inactivity renovation.
Wait. Me? Throw something away? Perish the thought!
I dragged that wreckage (okay the teen minions dragged that wreckage) around to the carport, where I was just carving out a workshop for larger projects that would be under cover. And I needed a workbench.
You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?