As for me, I'm not much of a fighting man. At least not since my days as a reporter when my boss tried to kill me. In the office. By strangling me. For real.

Fought him off the best I could and lived to fight another day...

I'm outside right now on my back patio peering through the clouds at what looks to be a three-quarter moon. I've been in the basement most of the night, but I've not just been sanding -- I'm now at the point where I'm joining wood. (Got no pipe-clamps; had to cinch the planks together with ratcheting tie-down straps -- worked great!)

Yee-ha, the table is starting to come together: the newly-extended bare-wood tabletop is now all glued up and attached to its box-frame. It and the pedestal are almost ready to receive stain. We move now from 60 grit paper to 100, working eventually up to 200. Then stain. Then polyurethane. Lather, rinse, and repeat.

Who knows... by next Sunday we might be eating meatballs off a fully-restored and bitchin' dining room table. With freshly-shaved legs. And finely pedicured claw feet.

Maybe Jessica has some of those red claw covers leftover from Gracie?