It was at Bloomingdales, a very long time ago. I fell in love with its great, Country French look, polished walnut top and skirted edge. The table was made by Pierre Deux and priced at $3,100; I still have the tags. I'm sure I paid a lot less than that as it was the floor model, but still, it was probably the most I'd ever paid for a piece of furniture.
It's been in my life longer than my son. I found this picture of my friend Scott. The table in the background was primarily used as a place to dump my coat and bags. This photo was taken at my first NYC apartment on East 56th Street in early 1992. It was a time when both phones and speakers were huge.
The table would fit six comfortably with one leaf. The most guests ever seated around this table at one time were two year olds, here to celebrate Alexander's momentous birthday.
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The table rarely got used for our meals. More often than not, Alexander and I would eat in front of the TV on a coffee table, while watching Jack Bauer save the world or Carrie Mathison prevent some terrorist attack or Jessie grow stronger while hating Walter more and more.
The table was perfect as a place to play gin when my mom visited. 
Or as a desk for doing homework.
Alexander made a game for some life skills class in sixth grade.
And later conducted some sort of science project for 8th.
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And every now and then someone would actually eat at the table.
Like when Sally visited after high school graduation in 2011, and I actually cooked dinner.
But tastes change and I now want a more contemporary apartment look.
I call the Salvation Army weeks ago and schedule a pick up for today, somewhere between 7:15 and 3:30. I get up early and call. "Someone will be there today in the afternoon, ma'am." To further qualify the time frame I ask, "So I should be home from noon on?" "Exactly."
The men arrive at 10:30.
I am hoping my table and chairs find a good home, and that the new memories made are as good as the ones left behind.
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