If you know me, you know Im not an overly sentimental person. Well, at least as far as things go.
Sure, I get choked up at weddings, funerals, on Christmas Eve and on The Nippers birthday.
But stuff? Its just stuff. I cant take it with me. Its just a reminder of the stuff in my brain and my heart that I consider really important.
So, this story is unusual.
I like antiques. Im not a huge investor in Chippendale or Stickley or Tiffany, but I like a nice, old piece of furniture, an interesting print, some retro jewelry. Even though we live in what we call a Usonian mid-century modern (i.e. a 60-year-old ranch house), items from an earlier era are still a point of fascination for me.
A number of years ago, both my maternal grandmother and a great aunt had to go into full-time nursing care. The formers body was failing; the latter was slowly losing her mental faculties. This necessitated the cleaning out of both of their residences and then figuring out what to do with their belongings.
I dont know the exact value of anything – some items were worth some money. Others, like the globe calendar that always sat next to Grandmas phone, had sentimental value to the family.
My grandmas bedroom outfit, which once had belonged to my great-grandmother, needed a home. No one wanted to break up the set and I was the only family member who really had enough room for it.
So I got a double four-poster bed, a mirrored vanity and a chest of drawers.
They went into the guest room, where they have stayed for the past few years.
The one thing that always struck me was how my grandparents ever slept in the bed. Husband and I started with a queen-sized bed and moved to a king (lest The Nipper paid a late-night visit). Yet the two of them spent decades curled in that little bed and were happy there. That made me happy to have it in the house.
A few weeks ago, we decided it was time – finally – to get rid of The Nippers bedroom chest and shelving that had been in his room since birth. Now that hes approaching 12, the white pieces with the brightly colored knobs just seemed somehow passé. So out they went.
And down came the old chest and the vanity, ready once again for day-to-day use.
Husband and First Friend, ever the movers, took all the drawers out before taking the pieces down the stairs. Later, I was putting the pieces back together when I saw some items that had apparently become lodged behind a drawer and were now revealed.
Reaching in, I pulled out an ancient ribbon, which apparently had at one time held together a bouquet of flowers. Behind that, two pre-packaged hair nets – which, as I recall, were favored by both my great grandmother and my grandmother.
And behind those, a folded piece of paper, yellowed.
It was on Happy Mothers Day letterhead. A telegram, dated 1945. To my grandmother from my grandmas younger sister.
Happy Mothers Day to best mother we can ever imagine. Stop. From My great Aunt Ann and family from out of state.
In the days before e-mail and social media and cell phones – a simple telegram. Well worth keeping, if even by accident, all these years.
So now the Nipper sleeps in his bed (queen sized. He tosses a lot), surrounded by his great grandmothers furniture, albeit covered with toys and fifth-grade worksheets.
He probably could care less, but it makes me feel somehow warmer, even though furniture is just another thing.
The bed stays in the guest room. We go there when we cant sleep, when we dont feel well, when we need a quick nap or a few moments of peace and quiet.
Its a good, old bed and so, so much more than a thing.
Wooster Weekly News columnist Tami Lange can be reached via e-mail at tam108@hotmail.com.
