How To Build A Sofa Table

With a few simple tools you can build your own dining room table or sofa table. Below are pictures of a sofa table I built last week. The same method applies to making a large farm table, but with extra cross members in the frame. All of this can be built with only a skill/circular saw and a hammer and nails. I have a table saw and miter saw, which make cutting straight lines very easy.

First thing to do is figure what size you want your table to be and if it needs to be an exact width. I recently made three farm tables 3’ x 8’. However the three top boards were 1x12, which means they are actually ¾” x 11-1/2”, my table was actually 34-1/2” wide instead of 36”. Not a problem for my client. Also, the legs for this table were 2x4. For large tables I use 4x4s tapered down.

For the table pictured the boards I started with were 1x12, but I only wanted the sofa table to be 16” wide so I ripped the boards down to 8” wide and used the remaining 3.5” as the frame. The lumber used for this project was:

2 – 1x8 @ 48”

2 – 1x4 @ 44”

3 – 1x4 @ 10-1/2”

4 – 2x4 @ 29” tapered down to 2x3

With my table top at 16” x 48” I figured the frame to be 2” smaller all around. I cut the boards to length and prepared to assemble them. I was using a hammer and #10 x 3” nails for this project. You should always predrill nail holes to prevent the wood from splitting.

I nailed the frame together then placed the top boards on the frame measuring 2” all around. Then I nailed the top boards in place. Afterward, I flipped it upside down on my worktable and nailed the legs on.

Our client wanted an antiqued rough looking table so I beat on the boards with a hammer and garden tool then scraped it with an awl.

The frame and legs were painted with a green latex paint. After the paint dried overnight, the painted areas were lightly sanded to remove some of the paint, but not all of it. Then the entire table was hand wiped with stain. The stain gives the painted areas an antiqued look and helps bring out the wood underneath. The table can be finished off with a clear coat of hand rubbed polyurethane or Orange Oil.

As you can see from the pictures this was all made on a little table in my back yard. It was started late one afternoon and finished quickly the next morning.

Nursing the Baby

We had empty nest syndrome but did not know it until Mitchell’s friend adopted a kitten for us. I came home from work to find Kit and Renee talking to Kay, a little gray fluffy kitten bounding around the house. It didn’t take long to come up with a name, Mr. Hedley, his head and ears seemed so large for his little body.

The next day he was sneezing and sleeping a lot. Kay took him to the vet, we found out he was very sick. Dr. McCoy gave Hedley antibiotics and prescribed lots of bed rest. His short life had been tough so far. He was part of a litter left in a box outside the pound where all of his siblings died. Hedley was then neutered too early in life, poor thing. We gave him goat’s milk and wet cat food. He spent the next few days curled up on Kay’s chest sleeping. She held him and loved him, hoping he would be okay. After a week his fever broke and he seemed to be feeling much better. During his illness he lost his voice and it never came back as strong as it was.

Hedley’s body finally grew to match the size of his head and now he is a rambunctious teenager. As I look at my hand it is covered with small scratches. We play and wrestle a lot. My hand and foot bear the scars from his attacks. Kay doesn’t allow him to bite her and he knows it. While he is in full attack mode, both paws wrapped around my fist while biting and kicking with his back legs, she puts her hand in his face and he only smells her. I return my hand, full attack mode once again. At times he will stand on his hind legs and attack my calf, other times flipping on his back so his hands and feet a free to wrap around my foot, it tickles more than anything.

His favorite thing is a napkin or paper towel rolled into a ball. From a dead sleep he will wake to the sound of a paper towel wadding to be thrown. His favorite activity is fetching the napkin. While we sit in bed watching TV we throw the napkin; he dives off the bed and brings it back to us, over and over. After he tires, he lies against my legs and falls asleep. Sometimes we wake up with him between us fully laid out on his back. He loves to be near us.

Now when Kay is sick it is his turn to take care of her. He knows something is wrong with her and cuddles up close to keep her warm. The only time he lays on or against her is when she is in bed sick. He is laying with her today, taking care of her, sipping her water when she isn’t looking, gently touching her with his little paw as if to say “There, there, do you have a fever and chills, I will lay here and take care of you now. Thank you for loving me.”

Wilson House Bed and Breakfast

On your next visit to Pinckard, stop by The Wilson House Bed & Breakfast. Located on Highway 134, in the heart of downtown Pinckard, this quaint singlewide mobile home provides the finest of country living amenities.

Ronald and Lurleen Wilson welcomed me to their home upon handing over $50 for one night’s stay. I parked my car beside the Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme on blocks in the front yard, which doubles as a doghouse. I immediately felt welcomed by the dogs when they proceeded to urinate on my tires. One of the younger dogs, I believe his name was Z71, really laid out the welcome mat by humping my leg. Ronald hollered out that Z71 shouldn’t take long and to come on in when he was finished. There, There, good boy.

A quick tour of the mobile home gave me a good idea of the sense of history the Wilson’s treasure. The den area was decorated with Confederate and University of Alabama regalia. Ronald is well versed in the history of the Confederate States and rich history of his beloved Crimson Tide. My bedroom was decorated with John Deere tractor logos. The bed was firm, but soft in places and I swear the thread count on the sheets was in the 200 range

After a light snack of Miller High Life and boiled peanuts I joined Ronald in the small, but comfortable pool. Lurleen mowed the grass while Ronald extolled his love of the Crimson Tide football team. Several Miller High Lifes later I was fully educated on the greatest coach in history, the number of national championships and expectations of future championships from the Alabama football team.

Lurleen finished the mowing and joined us in the pool. There was barely room for the three of us so Ronald excused himself saying he would take a nap. I think he drank several Miller High Life beers before I arrived. Lurleen asked if I would apply baby oil to her back to help her tan. Her skin was very dark and appeared to be a loose fitting leather jumper, but I did as she asked. Her leathery skin and raspy voice from years of cigarettes appealed to some primal yearnings in my midsection. That might be the beer talking. I engaged her in conversation about things to do while staying in Pinckard. She told me the two choices were going to MP Surplus or going to the store. Maybe later we could go to Midland City to see the Shrimp Man for supper.

As night fell we tired of being in the pool, Lurleen took me around to the back porch area. There she opened a box with a few cigarettes. She offered one, telling me it is a clove cigarette and really gives an appetite. I figured: When in Pinckard. We shared the one cigarette and she told me to quickly get dressed. A sports coat and slacks should suffice for a Saturday evening dinner. I started to feel very light headed, probably the cigarette and beer. I dressed as quickly as possible and met Lurleen in the den.

By this time the beer, whatever kind of cigarette and lack of food was taking its toll. My head was spinning. I stumbled into the den hoping to find Lurleen and Ronald and hopefully some food. Maybe I was a little tipsy, but gone was the leather, tanned woman with the figure of Barney Rubble. Lurleen was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. High heels, red spandex pants, a silky cowgirl blouse cut down to there and lots of blue eye shadow to compliment her stringy red hair. She was an angel.

Ronald was still asleep so it was just the two of us. Ever the gentleman, I held out my arm, she took it and we strolled out to the car. She drove to dinner in their truck. I didn’t mind, I was laid back enjoying the country air.

Somewhere along the way I must have passed out. When I woke we were parked on the edge of a cornfield. Lurleen was pulling me out of the truck and taking off my clothes. My head was really spinning and I had no control over this lovely woman. As we stood there looking at each other I saw something move in the corn behind her. I began to wonder what kind of cigarette she had given me when I saw a woman coming out of the corn riding a horse. The woman on the horse started screaming at us. I think Lurleen knew the woman as they were yelling all kinds of profanities concerning each other’s families.

I don’t think Lady Godiva and Lurleen were friends because the woman drew a pistol and pointed it at us. I tried to explain our situation, but a shot was fired in our direction. My love for Lurleen vanished as I turned and ran screaming naked through the cornfield. Shortly behind me I could hear the horse following and the occasional gunshot. At the end of the cornfield I scrambled a fence and began running through an open field of cattle. I turned back to see Lady Godiva and the horse jump the fence, following me.

Her next shot missed me, but spooked the cows. I didn’t care where I was going as long as it was away from Lady Godiva. I was hoping the cattle knew the quickest route to the highway. And they did. I could see the streetlights. Only a fence separated us from civilization. I bounded the fence, along with several cows, and of course of course, horse lady. Shouldn’t she be out of bullets by now?

Our running bovine parade went through downtown Pinckard where I saw the Wilson’s mobile home. I dove behind an azalea bush and watched the parade pass. After a few minutes I caught my breath, then Lurleen drove up. After she went inside I checked the truck and thankfully my clothes were in there. I dressed, grabbed my keys and said a silent goodbye to my overnight bag and the Wilsons.

This place was too crazy. I am heading into Dothan to stay someplace safe, like The Heart of Dothan Motel.

Violence at the Dothan Cultural Arts Center

Doris Hackenby, the Regional Director of Leisure Arts, Services and Suits has requested a truce between the major fighting factions downtown. Specifically Ms. Doris, as she is so lovingly referred, said she would have “no more of the shenanigans” that occurred Saturday night at the Cultural Arts Center.

“Apparently, there was a scheduling conflict in one of our classrooms. The Latin Ballroom Dance class was scheduled at the same time as the Watercolors: Discovering Your Inner Butterfly class, in the same room no less.” Ms. Doris said, adding, “Watercolor artists are known for their quick tempers and itchy trigger fingers. Of course the dancers proclaiming how fabulous they are compared to other art mediums didn’t help matters. There was a heated exchange of words that led out to the street, even the pitiable scrapbookers got involved. Luckily the police arrived just in time or I would be cleaning a mess of pastel and glitter today.”

Possible Caveman Found in Dothan

Scientists from the Dunbarton Institute discovered what they believe to be Dothan’s earliest man. Dr. Richard McSweeney confirmed the discovery of a possible prehistoric man at the intersection of Denton Road and Westgate Parkway. “A male subject was found in the area. We have our best scientists, some of whom make almost $17 per hour, working to determine the actual age of this prehistoric man.” Dr. McSweeney stated, adding, “The man, whom we refer to a Darryl due to ancient markings on his clothing, is in a well preserved state.

“We believe Darryl was a shaman or guide of some sort. In his possession was a metal staff approximately 1.2 meters long with an octagonal placard affixed. The placard reads STOP on one side and the other has SLO, but the last letter is too hard to read. As I speak to you, scientists from the Library are trying to decipher the message. My colleagues speculate he is part of a lost tribe of road builders. Apparently they spent decades in that specific area, who knows if the project was ever complete.”

Archaeologist Alabama Jones and the Copper Peanut

Deep in the jungles of Houston County, archeologist Dr. Alabama Jones approached the ancient Chattahoochee Indian mound. His sherpa, obviously paralyzed with fear froze in his tracks and would go no further.

Sherpas are guides, famous for their knowledge of the Himalayas. Dr. Jones had lost his way while searching for the ancient Indian mound when he happened upon this Sherpa trekking through the jungle. He offered the sherpa fifty American dollars to help him find the lost Chattahoochee Indian mound. The Sherpa seemed confused at first, but shrugged his shoulders and led Dr. Jones through the thick kudzu jungle.

The sherpa stopped and pointed to the mound. “What’s the matter,” Dr. Jones asked, “Are you frozen with fear?”

“No, dude, it’s right there, now give me that fifty bucks.” The sherpa responded.

“What kind of sherpa are you?” Dr. Jones asked.

“Yo, I ain’t no sherpa. I work at Arby’s. I was just out here hiking when I found you. Why didn’t you just go to the main entrance? It’s a state park you know.”

“I was using this ancient map from the Archeology Department at Wallace College. It leads the way to the Copper Peanut.”

“Dude, ever heard of Mapquest? Wait, what’s that about a Copper Peanut?”

Dr. Jones pulled off his fedora and wiped the sweat from his brow, he finally found a youngster interested in history. He told the story to the young sherpa. “Long before you were born, there was a secret society called The Downtown Group. No one knows what they did behind closed doors, but there were rumors of wine and cheese tasting, along with other debauchery. This secret sect tried to change Dothan into what they called “A better place”. No matter how much the general public ignored them, they never went away. Their gatherings culminated in placing decorated fiberglass peanut statues around Dothan. The peanut statue at this site is rumored to have copper peanuts inside.”

“Whoa, dude, how big is this peanut?” The sherpa asked.

“Four feet tall.”

“Those peanuts must weigh a lot. Copper is going for $2.75 a pound.”

“No!” Dr. Jones said adamantly, “It belongs in a museum.”

Suddenly Dr. Jones heard voices coming from the mound area. He ducked down into a thicket of kudzu. The sherpa stood looking at him. Dr. Jones reached up and pulled him down. The sherpa tried to complain, “Yo man you better get back.”

“Listen to me sherpa. We have to be very careful. They are possibly Chattahoochee Indians, the last remaining members of the tribe, here to protect the treasure. Note their unkempt hair and tattered clothes.” Dr. Jones insisted.

“Naw man I think they’re skateboarders. Look, they are moving to the other side of the mound.”

“Now’s our chance! Let’s go! And pull your pants up.” Dr. Jones exclaimed.

Dr. Jones and the sherpa made their way through the clearing to finally reach the Indian mound. “Look old dude, there it is, over by those trees.”

“Proceed with caution young man, it could be booby trapped.” Dr. Jones warned.

“I see a giant peanut in a bed of rocks, surrounded by a two foot high rope. It looks safe to me dude.”

“There could be fire ants or boll weevils. Stand back!” With a sharp crack, Dr. Jones secured his bullwhip to a tree limb and swung across the rope barricade. The limb broke, sending him hurling into the peanut, knocking it off its base and Dr. Jones on his back. “Oh…I…can’t…breathe.”

The sherpa stopped laughing long enough to say, “Look old man, you cracked it. There ain’t no copper peanuts in here. There’s nothing of value.”

Dr. Jones slowly rolled over to inspect the contents of the peanut. It was a time capsule, filled with items from Dothan’s past. “That’s where you’re wrong kid, I see nothing but treasure. It is filled historical objects, little snapshots of a time when progressive groups of people tried to rejuvenate the downtown Dothan area.

“Most individual business owners followed the major flow of traffic while ignoring little things like character in architecture. These small businesses found themselves squeezed between corporate anchor stores, paying the same price per square foot. Most of them didn’t make it.

“Entrepreneurs wanted to chance success in an area previously developed as opposed to out on the highway in some bland cookie cutter strip mall. Property owners in the downtown area ignored pleas from excited new business owners hoping to restore old buildings into a thriving socio-economic area. Their legacy as property owners could have been so much more. Instead of allowing the buildings fall into decay, they could have restored the brick and mortar that had stood for so long, reviving the soul of a lost town.

“Look at this advertiser, proudly locating business in downtown Dothan, Featured Players Theater, The Bistro, Tags Unlimited, Blue Moon Café and The Foster Street Coffee House, now it reads like an obituary. Once uniquely decorated peanuts now stand as tombstones to a business owner’s worst nightmare. They took a chance on Dothan, but Dothan didn’t take a chance on them.”

Bacardi Silver Mojito

“Roy, I bought you some of those drinks you wanted.”

“Thanks babe” Roy said as he cracked open a Bacardi Silver Mojito. “These are so cool and refreshing on a hot day.”

“I know, you have told me several times.” Linda quipped.

“I can’t help it. I love these fruity things.”

“What would your buddies think about you drinking girly drinks? They might say you were gay.”

“I can drink whiskey straight from the bottle and any beer from light to stout, but I will never drink enough to have DickieDoo like those guys.” Roy added.

“What is DickieDoo?” Linda asked.

“That is from drinking so much your stomach sticks out more than your…”

“I get it, you fool.”

“I’m a fool for you. Come here baby.”

Roy pulled her close and kissed her hard. Linda tasted the Bacardi Silver Mojito on his lips, but more than that she tasted the passion from a man, a real man, who loved her like no one else had. She wrapped her arms around him, gripping his tight back muscles. His hands moved about her body, one hand exploring the curves of her hips, the other hand holding her head close to his. Her knees weakened and her body was flush with passion. Her senses tingled with the touch of his hands on her body. Firm grips in some places and light caresses in others. They held each other close. Their movements became a dance of rhythmic lust with sweet melodies of love. The music for their dance was the sound of kisses, moans and the gentle “I Love You” spoken whenever their eyes met. Several times she sang her own song.

After the exhausting dance, his arm around her with her head on his chest, she smiled thinking back to when they first met. She always wanted to dance with John Travolta; he was a sexy man who knew his way around a dance floor. Roy could not dance, even with Linda leading he was lost on the dance floor. But their private dance was getting better all the time. She made a quick mental note to pick up more Bacardi Silver Mojito, because he is man enough to drink anything he wants. She closed her eyes, her hand moved softly over his body until she drifted to sleep.