When I was sixteen we were up at Lake Superior where I spent some time searching for the flatest rocks I could find. I wanted to make a table. My Dad cut a piece of board for me and I glued down the rocks (artfully I thought then). I grouted the rock piece and my Dad made (or caused to be made?) a table out of (he always said…) angle irons. It was always on the patio at 2201 Washington and late in my Dad’s life it was his “smoking table” in the garage where he sat and smoked. When it came back to me it was full of ashes. Now it sits on our deck and really, I don’t want to repaint it. Some of the rocks are splitting but even so it kind of embodies my young life. Happy Father’s day Daddy, wherever you might be.
On The Way 
What a lovely Daddy’s Day tribute. I love the table just as it is.
I remember it well and can visualize like yesterday the ring of water left behind from his glass of iced tea, sipped while relaxing, legs stretched out in the low chair on the back porch.
Such a vivid recollection. Seems like the table is just a permanent fixture of so many memories of life around HCD.
I am trying to remember who he got to make the angle-iron frame. I am pretty sure it was Ernie and the gang at M&D. I vaguely recall going there to pick it up, but this is pretty shadowy. Maybe Bru remembers.
I see lunch baskets and those amber colored plastic glasses.
I’m really glad you made this thing. It has become an important part of all of our mental landscapes.