The table is set to go

When we first decided to look into moving to NZ, we knew that there would be a lot of stuff that, not only could we not take with us, we didn't WANT to take with us.  Stuff that sweet people had given to us and we did not feel comfortable in tossing out.  Stuff that was wonderful and amazing and is now tired and/or well, tacky. (Orange fondue pot, anyone?) and Stuff that is simply no longer needed on the current part of the voyage.
These are the things that are going out, no matter what, in the April Petrolia Town Wide Garage Sale. Some of them are already in the garage, with more to move in as mid April draws near. (Thankfully, the opening day tournament at Sawmill is not on the same day as the town garage sale--can you hire someone to do your sale for you? We have also begun the shredding of 22 years of tax files (yes, yes, we've kept the last seven), paycheques and the triplicate pictures, or hair different shot of that incredibly cute child.

There are also the things we want to take with us but, before going with us, they need a face lift.  In fact, even if they go nowhere they need a little cosmetic work.  And that has begun. It was with great trepidation  I sent off my parents rock maple Vilas  table and chairs (with two panels).  Not to be stripped and re finished, but to be stripped and (shudder) repainted.  The two women who did this assured me that someday should somebody want to 'take it back' and varnish it; it is entirely possible (be still, my siblings).  But for now, I am enjoying it.
I still have the table and all the wonderful memories that go with it.  The meals under which it groaned.  The bun fights that the Collins girls inevitably instigated when sitting too long.  The elbows that rested upon it (not, I repeat not, during a meal) with the owner listening to the stories of the family past and present, engaging in political discussion, or howling at my Daddy's 'shoemaker' jokes that he brought home from Polymer.  We did everything at that table -- ate, laughed, fought, and cried -- I remember all of us sitting around it the night Dad died back in 1969.  I remember coming home from the hospice after Mum died in 2001 and telling Mike, Yvan and PoPo, the story of her passing.  The table holds much more than plates for me.

That table will never change; it was never about the colour or the finish, but the memories that are so ingrained in the wood as to give it a spirit of its own. It is ready for the adventure.