Furniture

I wrote a blog yesterday going on and on about hardwood floors.

So here’s this one, going on about furniture.

My grandmother kept an incredibly clean home. Everything immaculate and perfect.

Her furniture was beyond beautiful. A dark cherry oak dining table, China cabinet, 6 chairs, a leaf for the table, a wardrobe, ornate headboard, curved footboard and dresser. A tea cart and small side table.

And a buffet. The buffet is the star of the story.

They all matched and have the same maker stamp on all pieces. I cant find anything on its age, but it’s old.

When I was in my early 20’s, she took me into the dining room and told me if anything were to happen, all paper work needed was in the buffet.

It has two drawers and two side doors with plenty of storage.

Above this buffet was a sears painted portrait of me when I was 3. I don’t remember it not being there, and I knew from stories that it was a Christmas gift to my grandparents from my parents.

She said, “Chrissy, I’m going to show you where the papers are stored, you’re never to show anyone this. Ever.”

I just looked at her. I looked at the buffet. “Okay Nana.”

She released a secret drawer on the buffet.

Pulled it open and showed me where the wills were, some coins, cemetery plots already purchased and directions for banks and stocks.

Even in my 20’s I was beyond excited. There’s a secret drawer!! I must not ever tell anyone.

As years went by, I always side eyed the buffet when I was visiting. If I was in the house alone on the visits, I would always take a peek into the hidden space of the drawer. I just couldn’t help it.

When both of my grandparents passed, my dad moved in and the house he was raised in became his.

On a visit to him, not long after my grandmother passed, he wanted to show me where all of his documents would be if he were to pass. He walked to the buffet and told me, “Chrissy, I’m going to show you where the papers are stored, you can’t show anyone.”

I became aware of my facial expression and kept it under control. He doesn’t know I already know and I’m going to give it to him that he’s the first to show me.

He proudly released the drawer and looked to see my reaction.

I gave him what he needed and we went through some of the paperwork and items in there.

Then we went through one of the side doors and found an old Polaroid camera.

He took it out and we wandered into the living room chatting about cameras.

He sat that Polaroid on the coffee table as we talked and don’t you know that thing fired off by itself and a picture rolled out of the front?

We both stared at it, looked at each other, wide eyed and a little freaked out.

He looked at the camera and looked at me and said, “Well that things got haints!!”

It was such a southern thing to say and I burst into giggles and could not stop laughing.

The picture never developed into anything. I have the camera now and the haints memory attached to it had me putting it away in the attic.

It was a good memory, though weird, and now I have an urge to get the camera out of the attic.

Maybe I’m starting to loosen up on the anger. Anyway…

Fast forward to getting the call about his death.

I got the call on a Friday night. By Saturday around 8pm, I arrived in town. I went straight to the hotel and checked in. My sister was to arrive around the same time.

We put off going to the house for as long as we could. I really had no idea what we were going to walk in to.

It took us a while to get into the house. I had a key but the door and lock was damaged from the police busting in.

It was me. 3 years of kickboxing classes helped us get in the door. I damaged the door more than the police did.

The only reason I needed to absolutely go that day was to get his paperwork needed for the funeral home.

My sister has no relationship at all with my grandparents or dad. None.

Thats its own story, but in a nutshell, my parents divorced when she was 2 or 3. She had no relationship at all with any of them from that point on.

But there she is, right behind me as I moved through the house.

She did ask, “Do you know where to look for his information?”

I said, “I do.”

A strange anxiety washed over me as I said that. I was going to have to open the secret drawer in front of her. Decades of keeping that drawer a secret now had to come out.

I had just been there in March. Dad had again shown me where everything was. I knew what was in the drawer.

I was thinking all this and also not trying to have a complete freak out meltdown over absolutely everything.

So I approached the buffet, looked at her, took a deep breath and released the drawer. She squealed! She had couldn’t believe it and we chatted for a second about how cool it was.

I pulled the paperwork and we went through it at the dining room table.

She kept looking at the buffet. She said something that sounded like she wanted it.

So I immediately laid claim to it. It was already pissing me off that we are even discussing anything like that at this point. Let’s just get him buried first.

She looked at the portrait of me above the buffet. She said, “When I called mom to tell her, she told me to get that portrait of you for her.”

I muttered, “That’s fine.”

Two days later, my husband and son get into town. It’s been two exhausting days of cleaning and I’m emotionally done.

Husband asks me what I want to take back on that trip. He said, “I’m here, son’s here, we can do a uhaul on this trip and take back big items if you want.”

I said, “I definitely want the buffet.” He said OK.

Then I looked at the dining room table and asked, “Do you think this will fit in ours? I wanted to switch ours out anyway. Can it fit?”

He said it would. He and my son arrived with a uhaul and the next thing I know is the entire dining room set -table, 6 chairs, China cabinet, buffet, tea cart, side table- are loaded and on their way to Maryland.

It was actually somewhat sad to see the dining room bare and empty.

But it went east and now sits in my dining room.

What went on with my sister claiming everything is another soul destroying anxiety ridden story.

My grandparents rented that house in the ’30’s. It was fully furnished.

With all that furniture. Dining room and bedroom.

They moved to a town north of them for a few months and had my Dad.

My Dad was about 5 months old when they moved back and bought the house. With all the furniture.

Now it all sits in my house. The dining room and the bedroom set.

It doesn’t show any age or damage. It’s crazy how well she took care of it all. It’s still immaculate and beautiful and the secret drawer is all mine.

Sometimes I go into my dining room now and take out a crystal glass and pour a drink and sit in my grandmothers chair.

Sometimes it’s milk, she would pour me milk as a child in those glasses.

I now sit at the table I sat at growing up. A million dinners and breakfasts, birthdays, thanksgivings, christmases.

There’s a Winchester chime clock on top of the China cabinet that now chimes every 15 minutes in my house.

The wardrobe that belonged to my grandfather now holds some of my clothes and house linens.

I take care of it as she did. I absolutely love every inch of every piece that I have.

But it doesn’t belong here.

It belongs back in that house.

Even the clock the chimes away in the background sounds sad and out of place.

The secret drawer no longer holds the magic it did in that house.

Did my husband make sure it all came east, knowing how much it all meant to me? Did he do it for me or did he do it knowing how I attach myself to things. That I’ll stay where the things are.

Stupid as that sounds.

Is it the furniture that wants to go home?

Or is it me?

2022 at my house

1947 in Kentucky