SECOND HAND

I love going to thrift stores, antique stores, flea markets and garage sales. To me, something about keeping a useful item out of the landfill and adding to its history, is magical. But last year, I was the one selling some near-and-dear items – like that antique armoire I purchased at a second hand shop weeks before my daughter was born to hold all her little clothes and blankets. We lived in a 70’s Spanish at the time but that antique piece was right at home next to her hand-me-down crib and a 40’s rocking chair that I picked up cheap at a garage sale. I had the rocker reupholstered when it was still inexpensive to do so.  

As she grew up, the armoire moved out of her room. It became a closet for other things, like games, coats, or wrapping paper. If followed us around through a few more houses even after both kids had long since moved out. It occupied many different spaces through the years too: a hallway, an entryway and the living room. We kept it way too long, kind of forced its function. The folded sweaters and jeans that didn’t really fit well on its only shelf, the aprons that hung on the hooks in back, hidden by the folded clothes; the wrapping paper that spilled out if you didn’t open the door just right. 

But I have a soft spot for furniture. My mother loved furniture. My grandfather owned a furniture store. It’s in my genes. And that armoire had a spell on me. It reminded me of how excited I was about my upcoming baby and how happy I felt that I could welcome her with such a pretty piece of furniture. Not to mention all those sweet little clothes that were hung up in a tidy row. (Probably the last time, I would see my daughter’s clothes put away so neatly)!

But, I was downsizing. And my daughter, who by this time had daughters of her own, didn’t want it. She didn’t see the attraction. It didn’t offer her the kind of storage she had to have for the kids. She prides herself on being “practical.” It would have to be strapped down and, well, why bother? 

So, I put it up for sale with a description that included “charming” and “finally letting this one go.” A young woman bought it and with her husband, swiftly loaded it into their truck. She actually thanked me twice after she left; she was so excited to get it home.

It’s funny. I don’t miss it now. I can just as easily conjure up all those memories without its physical presence. And it was time for it to work its magic on someone else. 

But my daughter, who had no interest in the armoire, took that reupholstered rocking chair. She wanted it to rock her kids when they get too wound up, like I used to do with her. “It’s practical,” she said.  What can I say? The magic is in our genes.

Photo by Reiseuhu on Unsplash.com