Sunday Scribblings Post-Prompt "Meals"
Meals
We actually have a dining room table, it just never gets used for meals. It is an office space, a desk, and a studio, but it's very rarely used for its intended purpose. The table itself is a large oval made of heavy, dark wood. It's antique, inherited from my mom's side of the family. We had to have it refinished, but once we did, we remarked how beautifully it turned out, then promptly set about abusing it as we saw fit.
I always make him use a coaster. I have some cool felt ones that a friend of mine made for me for helping her with a craft show booth. They're blue and yellow and have stars on them. He thinks it's funny that we've restored the table so that we have to be careful not ruining it with art projects.
He usually draws at the table. He'll set his sketchbook on the side facing away from the dining room entry. Any project starts with the mugs he keeps his colored and graphite pencils in setting right next to the pens he likes for line work. By the time he's done, the pencils that are getting used have been set down within easy reach on a piece of non-slip shelf-liner, a trick that I showed him after I got tired of chasing his pencils across the room.
Sometimes, I write at that table, especially if I'm writing in a notebook with a pen. More often, though, the dining room table serves as the work surface whenever I decide to make something that isn't food. He's come home to discover the table carpeted in random, colorful sock bits and an assortment of multicolored marbles that will eventually become devastatingly adorable monsters. He's found me painting, he's found me drawing, and he's found me sewing books.
It's only when we decide to have friends or family over that the dining room table finally gets cleared of all the detritus of our creativity. Then, we put out platters of food, or set the table, depending on the occasion, and finally, for once, use that table for its intended purpose.
We actually have a dining room table, it just never gets used for meals. It is an office space, a desk, and a studio, but it's very rarely used for its intended purpose. The table itself is a large oval made of heavy, dark wood. It's antique, inherited from my mom's side of the family. We had to have it refinished, but once we did, we remarked how beautifully it turned out, then promptly set about abusing it as we saw fit.
I always make him use a coaster. I have some cool felt ones that a friend of mine made for me for helping her with a craft show booth. They're blue and yellow and have stars on them. He thinks it's funny that we've restored the table so that we have to be careful not ruining it with art projects.
He usually draws at the table. He'll set his sketchbook on the side facing away from the dining room entry. Any project starts with the mugs he keeps his colored and graphite pencils in setting right next to the pens he likes for line work. By the time he's done, the pencils that are getting used have been set down within easy reach on a piece of non-slip shelf-liner, a trick that I showed him after I got tired of chasing his pencils across the room.
Sometimes, I write at that table, especially if I'm writing in a notebook with a pen. More often, though, the dining room table serves as the work surface whenever I decide to make something that isn't food. He's come home to discover the table carpeted in random, colorful sock bits and an assortment of multicolored marbles that will eventually become devastatingly adorable monsters. He's found me painting, he's found me drawing, and he's found me sewing books.
It's only when we decide to have friends or family over that the dining room table finally gets cleared of all the detritus of our creativity. Then, we put out platters of food, or set the table, depending on the occasion, and finally, for once, use that table for its intended purpose.