So this is fun. A while ago, my dad showed us a few pictures of my parents' first apartment, featuring some of the furniture that we've inherited in our own place 30 years later. What I found entertaining was that the placement in the rooms is almost exactly the same.





I am inordinately proud of this table. Built by my father in the 70s in said apartment using whatever tools he had, this was the table I remember eating Sunday dinners on as a kid. As of last summer, it had been sitting in my dad's garage for over a decade. I endured many hours of sweat, splinters, and paint thinner fumes to strip it, sand it, stain it, move it across the country, and reassemble it in our new home. My dad cheered me on and bore gracefully the death of his power sander, which I killed halfway through the project. Below is the finished product: