Monday, July 30, 2007

gone in 60 minutes

I finally dropped the price of my living room furniture on craigslist from what I think it is worth to what someone might actually be willing to pay, and they did. Immediately. Some guy from Hillsboro swooped in and got it within an hour of posting. As he was loading it into his truck, I said something insipid like, "Enjoy" and he said, "Oh, I'm just putting it in the kid's playroom."

What? My fabulous mission oak set? First of all, their poor little heads will crack on the arms.

Oh well, they're not my kids.

So, it is gone. My first set of really great furniture. It was a watermark moment for me, to sit on things no one else had used.















In a different time, I would have gladly given my last and only twenty bucks for them in the shape they're in, Sid-scented and everything. I loved this stuff. I used it up. Today, (and yesterday, and for the forseeable future) as I am trying to pick out throw pillows to go with the new leather set -- which is driving me insane at this moment, because now I want to rip out our carpet and redecorate completely -- I don't want to go too formal because I really would have to redecorate, and I'm sick of the early garage sale look my house always seems to have.... so I'm thinking awning stripe. Red and brown to go with the leather. Maybe a western flavor. So yesterday, as I'm buying these really fancy pillows with white embroidery and black wool which I will now have to return because they are all wrong, I told the girl at Cost Plus how I shed a tear as the guy walked off with my stuff. She looked at me funny and said, "Yeah, you just kind of want something new once in awhile." It was then I knew we had led different lives.

Here is a list of the sofas and chairs I remember, and as usual, liar that I am, I'll make up a few just to offset memory loss:

Oversized, long and white, a precursor to civilization. When I saw it at a yard sale, I had high hopes that I had come far enough, domestically speaking, to handle white. I was a bit premature, as I recall. Just ever so slightly.

The Pit. This was a selection of pieces, you know, that burgundy velour that everyone had. But most everyone had the whole pit. I just had the leftovers, the corner wedges and hassocks that rolled sideways on those little gold ball feet if you looked at them. And for the pieces I didn't have, I filled in with twin bed mattresses and box springs covered with Mexican blankets. Mexican blankets cover many sins.

Green Brocade: This was my nod to the 50's. I was in a pretty steep learning curve about home decorating at that point. Pink, green and cream. Very girly. Lotsa tulips.

The Red Wine Chair. I know I've written about that one before. The one Cooky and I vied for. My story is that she already had great over-stuffed blue velvet furniture and I called dibs anyway. There it was, sitting out in front of the Central Point Goodwill Box as we pulled up to steal a wheelchair for a nursing home patient. I'm sure her story would be very different, and if she would set up a blog, which isn't all that hard, she could tell you all about it.

Okay, there are many many more. But those are the few stand out in my memory. Its late and am too tired to lie.

4 comments:

msb said...

Love the old mission style. Cooky no blog, yep bet she has a story or two. :+}

asha said...

Hey, how come Barbara's photo shows up on your blog but my photo shows up when either of you post on my blog? Makes me look like a self-obsessed maniac responding to my own comments. Don't say it. I know that's not far off from the truth.

As for furniture I have known and, in my case, generally hated, good riddance. The one that immediately comes to mind is the giganto, metal desk I dragged into the farm house in West Virginia. What a fucking monstrosity but, at the time, I could not envision living without it. The lesson there? A desk does not a novel make. These days, the less the better. I'd love to toss the 2 leather recliners in the front room but Lee won't let me. ARG! At this point, my dream space would be living in a studio.

someone said...

I'm not sure what's happening with your photo. Its all over the place. Nice pic tho!

"A desk does not a novel make"
or a notebook
or a journal
or a garret.

In the immortal words of Anne Lamott: the only problem with being a writer is all that pesky writing.

asha said...

Yes.