Today, that little table is back where a piece like this belongs.
Holding a lamp, a book, a cup of coffee, the same ordinary things it has probably held for generations.
And that might be my favorite part.
I never wanted to erase its age. Every little mark is proof that somebody actually used it.
I just wanted to take good enough care of it that one day, someone else in my family could use it too.
Someday I hope my daughter takes it.
Maybe she’ll put it beside her favorite chair.
Maybe her kids will add a few scratches of their own.
That doesn’t bother me anymore.
Because the goal was never to make a 120-year-old table look new.
It was to make sure it still looked worthy of another 120.