…a past life.

I had an interesting conversation with Meg this morning. Meg is technically my babysitter/nanny, but what she really is is my friend that watches my kids. Sometimes I just want to stay and chat with her when she comes over, but the temptation of grocery shopping without any kids is a greater pull at the moment. Meg, hope you don’t mind I’m mentioning you here. Aside from her amazing care for my children, she is also an interior designer and recently redid a guestroom. She reported this morning that some strange things have happened post renovation in the house to indicate that maybe the previous owner of that furniture that she moved around/remodeled was not happy with the change. Doors slamming, random things thrown off the counter, the pitter patter of feet from no one. Hmmmm. Is there an unhappy ghost or maybe a happy one? Who knows, but it’s interesting to consider the past life of some of this old furniture that I’m working with.

Antiques are a strange thing because there was a someone that owned that piece that you now handle and put on a shelf in your home to look at. The person may have had to die for you to own it. Maybe it was something treasured or used carefully or carelessly, but you would never think of using. For example, I just bought this scale from Miss Mustard Seed.

I will not be using it, but I sure like looking at it! Who sat in the chairs that my children sit in every night for dinner. Was it a large family? What did they eat for dinner? Were they in a happy home? Were they clean? Who pushed them in and out every day?


And most importantly, whose feet were these?


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