So I considered all the mementoes that I could talk about, I wondered if there was something that could some them all up. Maybe like a chest that held them all?
Actually I have such a chest, well, in a way. None of the things I have shared as a Precious are stored inside here, though.
This is the “hope chest” that I have had since I was 20, the first piece of furniture I ever owned. I found it when looking for a bedroom suite for my first apartment, which I shared with my older sister. A junior in college at the time, I was not practical enough to buy the larger necessary item first. When you are twenty, your thoughts are filled with hopes and dreams, and you’re never tired enough to prioritize a bed over that!
It is pretty simple -- classic, I’d like to think, in design. Such a item should be timeless.
The chest sits in our guest bedroom under the window, I keep a blanket on top to it to protect the finish from items I sometimes stack there. I was not always so careful. In my second apartment, living alone (sister had married and moved to Norfolk, Virginia), I damaged the top by setting a glass on top of it one night and discovered a nasty water ring the next morning. (I guess tiredness became a factor, after all). There were also quite a few scratches. It was not until 10 years ago that I finally had the top refinished, as good as new.
That was not the only maintenance the chest
I still have the tag that shows it is a Lane “Love Chest”, and I bet you are dying to know what has come to rest under that quilt over all these years, under lock and key. Well, I will tell you that it in no way resembles something shocking that might have taken place in “Arsenic and Old Lace”, for instance.
I will also tell you that because it is cedar lined, I don’t keep books inside (although my Mom did in hers). I will tell you that there is at least one more quilt in there. That is all that I will tell you – today. Because today, the chest is the story, not the contents.
Trust me that there are some ‘love”ly things in there. Little bits and bobs that I should at least chronicle in a journal, so that someday I “hope” a granddaughter might understand her sometimes silly grandmother a little better.
Thanks for dropping by today – you are invited over to Sian’s for more Sunday tales.