The End Table
This is a portrait of my grandparent's table that they shared. It's where they lived a great deal of their lives, and it holds so many hints of the life they lived together and apart. It's hopes and dreams and death and love. Tempus fugit. We all get old and we have all done good and bad and we have secrets and vices. What do you do with your last days on earth? What secrets do you keep, and what ghosts of yourself do you leave behind?
The End Table
At one time Grandpa had a problem with drinks. He had four kids and had been to war, so who am I to judge? Eventually he kicked drinking entirely. He did good. Not everyone can say that.
Grandpa did what he had to, sometimes holding two jobs. He was a produce man for 30 years, making an honest living... aside from the times he would use the stickers they gave him as part of his job to make personal markdowns.
Grandma worked like a dog too. She worked at a school, part time at K-Mart, and sold Avon. I don't know how much she sold, she mostly just used the samplers for herself. She always had rubber bands around everything, I never knew why.