Something Old

Pots and pans can be recycled by your garbage collector if you live in the right city.  That was an interesting concept to me because I always thought pots and pans were recycled by one's offspring when they moved out to their own apartments.  I've never had to find a place for old cookware.  By the time I was in a position to buy new pots, college kids needed some and weren't too picky.


Now that they are older they have become much more picky about hand-me-downs.  They turn up their noses at cast off leather sofas and tables.  They don't want my unstylish but gently used recliner or grandma's nearly antique dresser. We try to fob off the best of our old things but no one's interested.  Our friends' children aren't even interested.


These are attitudes I don't really understand. If something was free, I took it. When I moved into a student apartment at 17, I scoured my grandmother's huge garage for kitchenware.  She had old black cast iron skillets that weighed about 10 pounds each.  But they were well seasoned and cleaned up like the Teflon of today.  I picked up about 3 different sizes.  One is the exact size of corn tortillas and I've made hundreds of crispy tacos in that skillet.  I still have it but now I shouldn't  eat tacos with fried tortillas.  I also picked up a couple of old pans and some silverware that came from Safeway. That silverware was tough, you couldn't bend the spoons no matter how frozen the ice cream was. That's the criterion for a good spoon.  I still have one big old spoon from that era.  There isn't anything you can't do with it inside or out.


I never turned down free furniture which means my first couch had deep holes in it from missing springs. You couldn't  get up out of it unless you were under 30. But the cushions were down and it was this incredible pinky-red brocade with large over stuffed arms. I loved it. Eventually I was offered something better but not nearly as charming or unique.  I also acquired side tables and coffee tables. Some from my other grandmother and some from richer, older friends who bought brand new tables.  I still have a dressing table and dresser from one grandmother. They will probably be considered antiques in another few years. In addition my parents offered me cast off furniture  that I never turned down, but eventually passed on.


It might seem from the proceeding list  that my house was filled with old, musty  furniture, but mysteriously, my old furniture pieces would find new homes just when I acquired other pieces.  Of course I had hand-me-down furniture for a long time.  I had two side chairs from my grandmother that I reupholstered after she had reupholstered them and removed their "wings" years before. The frames of the chairs were probably over 60 years old.  Only recently did they find new homes.  Someone called them my "forever chairs".  I think they are in every Christmas picture ever taken in every house we've lived in.  They're gone now but I really don't miss them. They served their purpose and the new ones are so much more comfortable.


I've discovered that I love NEW furniture despite the cost.  But I'm glad I had furniture with history.  Those old pieces help me connect events, people and places.  I know just where I lived when I had that broken, brocade couch and who gave it to me. The long blue couch that followed it lived in Redondo Beach with me and convinced me that all couches had to be at least 15 feet long to be comfortable.  It led directly to our first new sofa purchase, a dark red flowered cotton that took up a whole wall in our small 1950's house. I think it was an unconscious combination of my first two couches. I also remember clearly how my son smacked his poor mouth over and over again learning to walk around a huge sharp-edged coffee table from my mom.  Sofas, tables, pots and pans are reminders to me of where I've been and of those who came before, making me who I am in my own space and time.


You can't get that from Ikea.