|I'm working on eliminating "stuff" from my life, like yellow chairs from thrift stores.|
But first I'm telling their stories.
I introduced "Project Simplify: Stories of My Stuff" a couple weeks ago.
My roommate and I were visiting the DAV (Disabled American Veteran's thrift store) in Springfield, Mo. The yellow chair was sitting amongst a green plaid couch that sat far too low, and a leather love seat that had the shape of a mama's arms worn into the arm rests.
I brought the chair home (after wrangling it into the backseat of my roommate's car), and immediately used whole bottles of lysol, febreeze, and upholstry cleaner to sanitize, clean, and otherwise remove any traces of the chair's former home.
I wish I had stories of life and love and babies (well, not yet) to tell starring this chair; that seems the proper thing to do for a rocking chair.
But, I don't.
The yellow chair occupied an otherwise empty corner of my bedroom over by the window. To be frank, I rarely even sat in my pretty yellow chair. It was usually used held either my laundry pile or my textbook pile.
Regardless of how little it was sat in, I loved that chair. I loved that it was yellow. I loved how it squeaked if you tried to lean back too far. And I loved it a little more each time someone asked me why I had such an ugly chair in my room.