I think it might be time to archive the blog. In the 2 years or so that I have been blogging I have covered all the important "stuff" and (gasp) I might be recycling old material. In an unending quest to be current I asked myself "what is so important that I'm blogging about?" Our sons, our holidays together, our family, friends and collective memories. Upon reflection, that is what our lives consist of -no more, no less. My older sons have learned everything they know about my parents from this blog. There is no better motivation to continue blogging.
My mother grew up in a small - strike that -
tiny house in Greenpoint, New York. Her home was a 2 bedroom bungalow probably no more than 900 square feet in size. Greenpoint was a part of Brooklyn where the Irish, Polish and Germans sought to dominate the neighborhood and eyed each other warily. My mother was from neutral/Irish territory and my father's German family rented apartments in mostly Polish neighborhoods.
My mother, Georgette, slept on a pull out sofa in the living room of this Brooklyn bungalow. She lived with her own widowed mother Mary O'Grady, her blind grandmother Catherine Madden, and her two bachelor uncles Thomas and William who were retired NYC firefighters. She termed her childhoold as an idyllic upbringing. Their family always had food during the Great Depression and she spent her summers in another tiny rented cottage at Rockaway Beach. Mom grew up adored and surrounded by love which explains a lot about how she approached life.
There were only 2 pieces of furniture remaining from the Brooklyn bungalow. An armoire which my father sold along with the house in Suffield, and a battered table. It was the convertible dining room table Mom grew up with in Greenpoint. Long before the days of custom, granite encrusted eat-in kitchens every room served double or even triple duty. This table sat in the living room which served as Mom's bedroom after dark. Just before supper its leaves would come out from underneath, a tablecloth would go on and the utensil drawer (in the center of the table) would serve up knives and forks for the evening meal. Lunch was called dinner and evening meal was termed supper.
This dog eared relic resided in our basement in Suffield until we got furniture in the basement and turned it into a rec room. It served as a sofa table for a few years (1982-1988), got chewed on by our golden retriever puppy (1984) and became progressively wobbly until it became too shabby and was shuttled back into the recesses of the dark basement (1990). It was then moved to Lisa's house (1995), then back to mine (1996). Since then, Mark and I have moved it no less than 3 times, never using it. Over recent years it almost fell from our consciousness. Someone attempted to refinish it and gave up not long into the project - but not before the top became scarred and bubbled from the aborted effort.
June 2009. I got the name of a reputable furniture restorer some months ago. 2 weeks ago some strange sense of urgency overtook me and I called Minuteman Furniture Restoration come out to look at the table. We agreed on price after a bit of haggling and The Minuteman expressed sincere reservations about the damage to the table and his ability to repair it - the dog chews, the bubbled veneer, the shaky Duo-Fold leaves. He dated the table at circa 1925-1930. The original tag on the bottom of the table read "H.P. Robertson", Jamestown, New York. Some quick research revealed that Robertson manufactured only tables and went out of business in 1938. This type of fold up leaf table is called a
Jacobean table and was in vogue just before the Great Depression. This coincides with the date my great-grand uncles bought the Brooklyn bungalow in 1923.
Minuteman determined the table to be solid walnut with a thick walnut veneer on the top. In short order a craftsman and his tools erased all evidence of animal bites and age. The table was delivered today - what a thrill! It is solid, fully restored and gleaming in our living room.
I think it might be time to archive the blog. In the 2 years or so that I have been blogging I have covered all the important "stuff" and (gasp) I might be recycling old material. In an unending quest to be current I asked myself "what is so important that I'm blogging about?" Our sons, our holidays together, our family, friends and collective memories. Upon reflection, that is what our lives consist of -no more, no less. My older sons have learned everything they know about my parents from this blog. There is no better motivation to continue blogging.
My mother grew up in a small - strike that - tiny house in Greenpoint, New York. Her home was a 2 bedroom bungalow probably no more than 900 square feet in size. Greenpoint was a part of Brooklyn where the Irish, Polish and Germans sought to dominate the neighborhood and eyed each other warily. My mother was from neutral/Irish territory and my father's German family rented apartments in mostly Polish neighborhoods.
My mother, Georgette, slept on a pull out sofa in the living room of this Brooklyn bungalow. She lived with her own widowed mother Mary O'Grady, her blind grandmother Catherine Madden, and her two bachelor uncles Thomas and William who were retired NYC firefighters. She termed her childhoold as an idyllic upbringing. Their family always had food during the Great Depression and she spent her summers in another tiny rented cottage at Rockaway Beach. Mom grew up adored and surrounded by love which explains a lot about how she approached life.
There were only 2 pieces of furniture remaining from the Brooklyn bungalow. An armoire which my father sold along with the house in Suffield, and a battered table. It was the convertible dining room table Mom grew up with in Greenpoint. Long before the days of custom, granite encrusted eat-in kitchens every room served double or even triple duty. This table sat in the living room which served as Mom's bedroom after dark. Just before supper its leaves would come out from underneath, a tablecloth would go on and the utensil drawer (in the center of the table) would serve up knives and forks for the evening meal. Lunch was called dinner and evening meal was termed supper.
This dog eared relic resided in our basement in Suffield until we got furniture in the basement and turned it into a rec room. It served as a sofa table for a few years (1982-1988), got chewed on by our golden retriever puppy (1984) and became progressively wobbly until it became too shabby and was shuttled back into the recesses of the dark basement (1990). It was then moved to Lisa's house (1995), then back to mine (1996). Since then, Mark and I have moved it no less than 3 times, never using it. Over recent years it almost fell from our consciousness. Someone attempted to refinish it and gave up not long into the project - but not before the top became scarred and bubbled from the aborted effort.
June 2009. I got the name of a reputable furniture restorer some months ago. 2 weeks ago some strange sense of urgency overtook me and I called Minuteman Furniture Restoration come out to look at the table. We agreed on price after a bit of haggling and The Minuteman expressed sincere reservations about the damage to the table and his ability to repair it - the dog chews, the bubbled veneer, the shaky Duo-Fold leaves. He dated the table at circa 1925-1930. The original tag on the bottom of the table read "H.P. Robertson", Jamestown, New York. Some quick research revealed that Robertson manufactured only tables and went out of business in 1938. This type of fold up leaf table is called a Jacobean table and was in vogue just before the Great Depression. This coincides with the date my great-grand uncles bought the Brooklyn bungalow in 1923.
Minuteman determined the table to be solid walnut with a thick walnut veneer on the top. In short order a craftsman and his tools erased all evidence of animal bites and age. The table was delivered today - what a thrill! It is solid, fully restored and gleaming in our living room.
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