Transitioning

I kind of, almost, maybe feel like a tiny bit of an adult. I bought furniture this weekend, real furniture, not the particle-board / laminate pseudo-furniture I’ve been making do with for most of my independent life. I’ve been aching for an antique kitchen table for a long time, and finally found one with such character I couldn’t pass it up. It’s a fabulous oak English pub table with two leaves that easily pull out, and accompanied by four chairs. I know it’s a bit small to function as a full dining room table, but it’s plenty large enough for cozy entertaining, which is more my style anyway. Sadly, the gentleman who sold it to me knew nothing of its history, which is actually okay because I’m having fun musing about who might have gathered around it, enjoying a pint or two, back in the day.

And if that’s not enough, I also found the most charming barrister bookcase, another piece I’ve always wanted. The porter who loaded it into the car asked me, “So, are you a lawyer?” After nearly choking, I said, “No sir, I just have loads of books,” to which Mother added, “She’s a teacher.” That seemed to satisfy him for a bit, until he probed to find out which grade I’ll teach. He then proceeded to inform me that middle school is the hardest to teach, the kids are all just blobs of hormones, blah blah blah. Thanks for the pep talk, sonny. I refuse to allow your opinions, to which you are completely entitled, to intimidate me or diminish my enthusiasm.

It’s interesting, though, to note the pattern of reactions I typically receive when people discover I’m going to be a teacher. In my limited experience, there seem to be two camps of people – those who are genuinely respectful of the position and offer heartfelt encouragement, and those who express disdain/shock/criticism and consequently question my sanity. Curious, indeed.

Anyhoo, I’m super excited about my furniture. I couldn’t help but become a little nostalgic as Mother & I perused the antique booths, knowing that she used to accompany her mother on similar outings. I’ve tried to soak up Mother’s accumulated knowledge about antiques, and realized that I know how to recognize the signature marking on Heisey originals, and how to distinguish certain patterns of depression glass, and how to get a decent bargain (or at least make a wholehearted effort). Does this mean I’m turning into my mother?! I’ve a long way to go, but I surmise if I inherit even an ounce of her wisdom and goodness and sensibility, my life will be greatly enriched.

Hmmm. It seems I am years away from the aforementioned potential inheritance of wisdom. I just realized that I hand washed a silk skirt which is clearly marked “dry clean only.” Nice work. Hopefully I haven’t ruined it. I do find a bit of solace in the fact that I bought it on sale, but then again, I tend never to buy anything at full price, so I’m not sure how much of a comfort that is. At least I didn't launder pants with a pen in them (as J. once did), which later exploded in the dryer, creating exactly the mess one would expect to discover from putting an inkpen in the dryer. It's all about perspective.