Ancestral arborite

This would be the arborite on my kitchen table. The garish chrome screams '50s and it predates my father a bit, being the table that was in my grandparents kitchen when he was born. My best guess is 52.

Legend has it that some of the grunge deep in its cracks and crevasses it is actually the remnants of the first real food breakfast my father ever ate, but I'm willing to pin that on my aunt Gay.

But then again, there was always a thin layer of almost inperceptible-yet-slightly-sticky grunge on certain things at my grandparents' house, mostly things my grandmother touched. The table, the inside corners of the drawers, the TV remote, the phone... It's not like she never cleaned. The only source that I can think of is the nasty habit grandma has always had of giving food that missed her mouth a little flick with her finger to get it in. It has always grossed me out.

Sometime in the summer I'm going to soak it in lysol and attack it with a toothbrush to try and get the grunge out. Not that that hasn't already been tried unsuccessfully by several people over the past fifty years, but I haven't done it yet and like them, I want to say I tried. Until then, the ugly tablecloth stays on.

I was thinking that it's about time that I start taking pictures of textures again. I love them.