I was taking classes one winter at the University of Saskatchewan, and Norma, a fellow student, was insisting I get out and apply for summer jobs. I never did get around to it before the phone rang one day and it was Norma, saying she'd been for a job interview with the manager of a hotel/bar/restaurant up in La Ronge and he'd asked if she had any friends looking for work.
A job fell right into my lap.
You know.
I waited tables there, in the coffee shop, in the dining room, and in the lounge. One of the cooks was a thin, bespectabled gent named Ole. He had carved this coffee table, which I purchased and have had with me ever since.
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| It's getting a bit dinged up and the cracks between the planks have to be cleaned out with a paring knife once in a while. |
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| Quite often people don't at first see that there is the face of a person lying beneath a tree. |
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| One at each end. |
I do an internet search for Ole sometimes because I remember his last name, Kesler, and if I ever find him I'll send these photos. Maybe he'd be tickled to learn that his art has graced my living room, with only short durations in storage, for more than 30 years.
