I’m minding my own bidness about a week ago, when this happens: My neighbor, Patricia, and her brother, Alejandro come walking up the driveway, carrying this lovely lamp table. (I’d never met Patricia before. Go figure. She’s lived across the street and three houses up for seventeen years. And it took her brother, who lives about thirty miles away, up in “The Valley”, and works for a Beverly Hills furniture maker – on Melrose Place, no less – breaking the lovely lamp table he has just brought her – his boss gives him stuff – in order for me to make her acquaintance.) The first words out of his mouth are, “Can you fix this for us?” “Why, sure,” said I.
There was a dowel connecting the upper dish to the top of the telescoping stanchion that I had to very carefully drill out and replace. That’s all. But, no. That’s not all. I am ME, you know. I gotta learn something. So I took a lot of photos while watching the glue dry. I’ve seen these things, and always thought it’d be cool to make such things. If only I knew how they’re put together. Now I know. And I also now have a lead on a very high-dollar furniture and art store.
That’s an actual wax candle. That is the part that Alejandro makes. And he does the wiring. In case you wonder why he didn’t fix it himself.