I have been determined to reignite that part, deep inside of me, that not just loves to make things, but actually makes them! Creative things. That I like. That hopefully other people like. And even more importantly, so that the creative part, which I believe exists in everyone, is allowed to function. If you want to argue this, as many do, let me say that I believe this because we're made in the image of God and He's the Creator. I recognise however that being creative is probably far more profound in understanding than just 'I can paint' etc. Back to me though and I am convinced that when the 'creative me' is active, then 'me' becomes a little bit of a better 'me'. So with that in mind I've been trying to work out a way in which I can have my sewing machine out permanently. Having discussed all options with the gorgeous man we've created a space in the bedroom and now just need the right table to put the machine on. The search is on.
Visits to the new Dunelm Mill, the old Ikea and the never heard of it Home Sense were non-productive in the table search, however finding out that Home Sense is indeed the T K Max home department all in it's own shop was a discovery in itself. Will certainly go there again! These trips though did also confirm that it was a second-hand table we wanted and not some new thing which I would be trying to make vintage anyway. That should have been fairly obvious really as most of our furniture has had another life before Evans. So the usual scouring of second-hand shops, charity shops and reclamation yards followed. There were possibilities but never quite right. Until......
We ventured up the Uxbridge Road to Acton, as we were on our way into central London for a meet up with friends, and stopped at a little antique shop. Alan was being very earnest in the search for the table and seemed to want it more than me, which made me realise how much he wanted creative Alyson back. Or more likely he was just desperate for the better me! I was not really convinced that this shop would offer anything and anyway weren't we on our way out, but I dutifully followed obsessed Alan into the shop. And there it was. The table. A cute table. Something about it shouted out "I'm the table of your dreams and look what I do". It folded up. It was old AND it folded up. Now this might not excite you but I was immediately taken to my pretty garden, about to have tea with friends and me opening up this wonderful piece of furniture which had the ability to take me to other places, in my dreams. Serving teas on croquet lawns, in floaty 1920's dresses was exactly what this table said to me. It did not however say, I'll be perfect for your sewing machine. I stroked the table, you know how wood makes you do that. I looked at it longingly. Before I could stop myself I had spoken out loud just how much I loved this table. This wasn't a problem except I knew, deep in my heart, that this wasn't sturdy enough for the purpose we were buying it for. I then did something that I rarely do and I'm not sure why I did at that moment, but I told Alan it would be no good and pointed to a slightly more practical table and declared it to be a better buy. Realising what I'd done I cheekily asked the seller how much for the two tables - greedy I know but I was chancing it - not with the seller but with Alan. His immediate look of horror forced my hand and I declared, again, whilst stroking the original table, that the other one was better and to buy it now, immediately. Quickly. Before I changed my mind. Alan stood there. By the second table. The seller stood there. He didn't quite have his hand out for the money but he was waiting. Another customer, sat there. On an antique chair, happily watching this all played out in front of her. She was amused. I could tell. "Go on then. Buy it". I knew it. He couldn't. Because Alan had fallen in love with my table too. I could see it in his face. I could tell by his total lack of putting his hand in his pocket. I could see where he was looking. If he'd have been standing with me - he'd have been stroking the table too. I turned to the lovely lady, sitting down and whispered to her. "I'll just get this one - we'll soon find out it's not suitable and then we'll have to get another table and I can serve tea in the garden with this one". To Alan I said "ok, let's buy this. I love it. You love it. Let's get it". Alan assured me he could make it more sturdy and I just smiled at him and winked at the lady.
Off we went, with our 'folded up' table in hand. So excited was I about my table that as soon as we met our friends I pulled it out to show them. As I opened it up, a hinge fell off. So I shut it quickly so Alan wouldn't know. Well not quite at that moment - he would of course know when he set to work to make it more sturdy.
He's done that now, and my sewing machine is on it, in my bedroom and I think it may well work. Good job really, as my dreams of the grand gesture of opening and closing up my antique table in order to beautifully serve tea have taken a back seat, because the one thing Alan said the table couldn't survive was being opened and closed too often. Maybe Alan knew what he was doing all along.
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