When I was around thirteen, my family inherited a vintage Lane Cedar Chest.
Over the next few years, the cedar chest was used for a variety of purposes. Sometimes it was our coffee table, full of soft blankets to pull out on chilly days. Other times, it was a makeshift bench for guests to sit on when we ran out of chairs.
When I moved out, the cedar chest predictably became my hope chest.
I filled it with odds and ends that seemed important for my future, some gifted to me by loved ones.
The cedar chest of which I speak:
In recent years, my cedar chest has been used to store puzzles and games. For a short while, it housed homeschooling supplies. As you can see from the pictures, the poor thing has seen better days.
It has been sat and stood on by all manner of humans (and felines). It has been dragged unceremoniously from Edmonton to Lethbridge and back again, tucked in the back of moving trucks or our van when we switched from one rental home to the next as our family grew.
Despite my attempts to keep it unharmed, there are gouges in the exterior panels and patches of varnish worn away. I have scrubbed off splotches of paint and scraped stickers off the lid more times than I can count. Like so many of my other belongings, and metaphorical pieces of myself, the treasured cedar chest was sacrificed to the needs of my children.
Now, as I near my 38th birthday and make a concerted effort to wrench back the pieces of ME that I gave up to the foggy void of motherhood for the past 13 years, I have decided to take back my cedar chest.
Yesterday, I emptied out the last few puzzles and games.
I vacuumed out the dust, picked stickers off the lid one more time and scrubbed away random blobs of food and paint.
As with so many other objects in this house, I have no idea where to put the chest, which is why it is still in front of our "cat window" being used as a seat.
But it's mine now. Again.
Welcome back.
Ps. You can find out more about my background and what "makes me tick" in this and my other blog posts.
