Over the past ten years of my life I’ve lived in almost as many apartments, in three different cities, and shared space with roomies, boyfriends, parents and pets. My style has undoubtedly changed over the years, but there seems to be one piece of furniture that I just can’t quite shake. It’s not because it’s a family heirloom or because it’s even particularly attractive.
I acquired this unimpressive piano bench when I moved into my first apartment. It was left behind by a previous tenant and was looking a little worse for the experience. My dad took it home, painted and refinished it for me and it has served various purposes around the house ever since.
I bring it up because a few weeks ago I discovered that a plant (a plant that had a saucer, mind you, which was apparently pointless) that had been sitting on the bench had slowly warped and destroyed the top of it. At first, I wanted to take it out to the curb because it was a bit moldy and far beyond repair, but I didn’t and I couldn’t quite pinpoint why. It seems that despite hardly putting a thought into the thing over the years I had developed a sort of sentimental attachment to it. Instead of tossing it, I cleaned it off, oiled it up and moved it to another room.
Do I need it? Certainly not, but I have grown to enjoy having it around and the connection it provides to my past gives it more meaning that some of the nicer, newer furniture I own. There is a story to it and that alone makes it special and worth saving. While it can’t ever be truly repaired, in the coming months I plan on painting its base and eventually upholstering the top to cover up the rather unpleasant crack in the veneer caused by the faulty pot. Perhaps this blog will be home to the continuing journey it will take.
What about you, readers? Is there anything that you own that you’ve taken with you from place to place?