This commentary originally aired on July 15, 2016
I got tired of tripping over our old dining chairs, stored in our basement. We replaced them months ago, but I tend to hang onto things too long. This past Saturday, we put all seven out by the curb with a sign saying “free.”
Throughout the day, I’d glance out the window, expecting them to be gone. But, no. There they sat, as cars impertinently flew by.
It’s shallow and immature of me, but by the end of the day I was actually a little peeved. How dare everyone reject our chairs??? Chairs on which we had joyfully celebrated birthdays, holidays and visits by dear friends and beloved family? Chairs on which we raised our daughter, sharing life’s problems and victories, both large and small?
Why, it was almost an affront to our entire family for those seven chairs to continue sitting orphaned on the curb all day.
It’s illogical but I can easily believe that inanimate objects take on a sort magical aura over time. It’s as if they absorb the vibrations of events around them and radiate the essence of those events forever after.
Nostalgia is unhealthy when it becomes an obsession, but I have to retreat to it occasionally. Current events can be so disheartening. I have to balance my exposure to horrific news reports with a little gentle nostalgia.
Possibly those drivers who took a pass on our seven chairs already have their own sentimental objects that afford them solace during these discomforting times.
Goodness knows we all need something.