This table, which is stunning and unusual, was in the Austin house. Finch and I hated to just let it slip into the hands of the New People, even though shipping it wasn’t exactly economically feasible. And once it got here, I had to deal with Kafkaesque conversations like “who is your customs broker?” (Um, I’m a regular person, not Vandelay Industries), and “oh no, we were contracted to do an OUTSIDE delivery, which means leaving the skid on the driveway — we couldn’t possibly complete the delivery by putting it in an elevator and bringing it up to the 24th floor.”
Literally a dozen phone calls, scans, pdfs, re-savings of pdfs, random estimation of value, paying of $260 customs fees and $125 in an additional delivery fee to a guy named Ken and his nameless sidekick, the table is in my condo.
And just like that, having a place to eat and watch the lake, serve food to guests — it’s home. Nearly two years after I moved in.