We have a family history of moving furniture from one family member to another. We have a bedroom suite in an upstairs bedroom that traveled from a great-aunt to my brother and his wife, who then gave it to one of our daughters.
When the bed, dresser and vanity moved in here, I thought the set finally had a permanent home. A year later it moved out to an apartment. A year after that it came back. We figure it must be one of the Boomerang generation.
We have a piano that has logged nearly 5,000 miles in moves. If it had a dashboard, it would tell us it’s due for an oil change. Yep, just roll your little cart right there under Middle C, Mr. Mechanic.
There is a crib in the family that has been in three different states, six different homes and slept five different babies. It might sound like we are cheap; we prefer to call it practical.
When I visit my brother’s place, I always have a furniture déjà vu. I recognize the sofa in his basement as once having been in Mom and Dad’s basement, but it should be against a wall not in the middle of the room. He probably feels the same about a church pew I have that sits at the top of the stairs. It really should be under a window.
The furniture and goods not only keep recycling, sometimes they even multiply. We bought a small portable blue cot several years ago for when grandkids spend the night and now we have two little blue cots. I don’t know who the second one belongs to or how it got here, but I do know possession is nine-tenths of the law.
When our oldest daughter’s family moved back to the area, they made the mistake of buying a house with a large basement. I immediately offered a carpet shampooer and plastic tubs full of wedding centerpieces someone may want someday, so that their basement didn’t look so empty. Always doing what I can to help.
Her sister donated a table and six chairs that don’t fit in the place where she lives now. And an old saddle. Who doesn’t need a saddle in the basement?
In our most recent round of moves and rotations of household goods, we seem to have lost the dinner plates to my mother’s china. I searched my house and don’t have them. The youngest daughter searched her house and doesn’t have them, and the oldest daughter searched her house and doesn’t have them. Our son says China isn’t lost. It’s where it has always been in East Asia.
How do you lose a box with 16 dinner plates? I don’t think you do. You just keep them moving so fast nobody can catch them.