things are just things. (36)

We all have things we love and love to hold onto. Some have monetary value, and most have sentimental value or history that makes them hard to let go. I’m feeling this truth most evidently today, as I list item after item on Craigslist to make room for the Button and all of the exciting changes happening around here. It’s all well and good when I’m taking the photos and putting things up online, but as soon as someone says, “Sold!” I suddenly skew all emotional.

I’m not talking tears here, really (although I shouldn’t speak too soon…the stroller we first used for H is still up for sale). It’s more of just a fleeting sadness that comes with taking something out of our home that we’ve used and loved. And of course there are memories attached.

This afternoon, I’m waiting for a buyer who’s on his way to pick up our Herman Miller table/desk that we’ve loved for the past two years. It’s really just a table, but it’s in great condition and made for a really cool, retro-looking workstation for a while. It was the perfect fit for what we needed at the time, and now it no longer has a space in our home. Why am I attached at all? Good question. I found said piece at a vintage garage sale, not more than a block and a half away from home. My memory of the find is what’s lingering, and I’ve always loved that part. It was a super hot summer day (not unlike today), and I wore H for a walk in the baby carrier, thinking we’d just browse some vintage-y things and come right back home. He was about three months old.

As we rounded the corner up the sale driveway, a wasp flew up under the carrier and stung me in the low back. I’ve never felt such immediate searing pain in my life. I met the owners of the home (and table sellers) while wincing and doing a crazy bee dance, all the while attempting to ensure that Henry hadn’t been hurt or stung at all. They were the most gracious people, explaining that there was a nest buried on the edge of their yard, and that the pests had been especially bad that day. (Maybe next time, a “watch out for aggressive wasps” sign, folks? ;) They offered me ice, and the wife looked to make sure the bugger was gone and such (hard to check for yourself in this kind of situation). Their two boys played in the yard–one named Henry, and the other I don’t quite remember. I presumed this was a good sign.

The vintage sale did not disappoint. This couple had made a hobby of refurbishing Herman Miller furniture, and there were finds galore. I wanted to buy one of everything for J, who has an even greater appreciation for these things than I do. That would have just been impractical and impossible. But we were looking for a desk at the time, and one in particular happened to be the exact right measurements for our space. It had a perfectly beautiful top, a freshly polished up base, and a great price point. The couple promised to hold it for me so J and I could pick it up later that evening. I made my way home with H cozy in the carrier, eager to nurse my swelling back that afternoon.

Ever since, we’ve had this great table in our space, and we’ve used it time and again. But change makes room for change, and the room that was once an office has morphed into a playroom/office, and now demands to be strictly a playroom from here on out. It turns out very small people require quite a bit of room after a while. So the table is on its way out, and you know what? It’s been a good exercise for me today in letting go of things. They’re just things. A table is a table, no matter how retro and “cool.” The fun or sentimental memories attached don’t leave with the item. They just linger differently. And digital photography and smart phones make for great memory preservers along the way. I’ll never forget my little vintage garage sale wasp adventure, or carrying sweet baby Henry around the neighborhood in the summer heat. I’ll probably not forget the table, either. We loved that pretty little thing, if only for a time.