Yesterday the hutch that my wife wanted to save from her mother’s house arrived. One of her brothers who was involved in the transitioning of her mother into the “independent living” facility bought it back in his SUV. This was a good thing. Shipping it would have been mega-expensive.
It turns out to be nothing like I had envisioned it. It’s worse. It’s short which means it’s out of proportion with our room (something my wife admits), it’s made out of old, funky particle board and pine stained to look like oak. It doesn’t even really have a good “display” area.
My guess is that this was the bomb during the 1940s and 1950s when homes were tiny (as my wife’s mother’s house is….tiny) and the middle class didn’t have a lot to display. Maybe a few cups or hobby pieces like commemorative dishes or the like but certainly nothing like today’s in-home display cases that showcase memorabilia and souvenirs from all our travels.
Can I Burn It Now?
The worst part is that this atrocity will sit in the (our??) dining room for years to come. It’ll be even harder to get rid of after my wife’s 88-year old mother passes into the great beyond. I don’t mean to make light of death but in my wife’s family of pack rats and hoarders every item will take on the significance of a saintly relic.
It’s kind of sad really. I only wish I could convince my wife that this really doesn’t have any place in our house.
Not gonna happen. Not no way. Not no how.