Monday, November 9, 2009

I think I might be one of the oldest things in my house. And I don't even feel that old. Our house is supposedly about eighteen years old, which would seem to be confirmed by the presence of some of the original decor of an early '90's home: turquoise carpet in the closets that were not worth the cost to replace along with the rest of the carpet, the semi-circle window in the living room exterior wall, and the lovely peach-coloured floor tiles. My house is a teenager.
The major appliances are all younger than me. My clothes are old; mostly thrift-store finds and hand-me-downs, but most are younger than me. Now that we've replaced our old sofa, I'm pretty sure that I pre-date our furniture too. Perhaps with the exception of our china cabinet and dining table. These were passed on to us by my husband's late grandmother when she remarried two weeks after our own wedding. She and her new husband had the exact same table and china cabinet, so we were the lucky recipients of one of the duplicate sets.

The oldest things in my house are an odd collection of items:
A razor, crafted in 1932. The blades are still inexpensive and recyclable; who would have thought that razors in the 1930s were more eco-friendly than in 2009?

A few antique books, collected throughout the years at thrift-stores and garage sales.

 My beautiful china set which I inherited from my husband's late great aunt Katja. It's so beautiful and made of eggshell fragility that I've never used it in its seven years in my possession.

My prized waffle iron, sans non-stick poison.

 A few coins that I collected at the Cloverdale flea market years ago.

That's pretty much it.
A little ironic, I think, that it is the material things that are in fact so transient.
What is lasting in your life?
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