Thursday, 1 January 2009


I am wondering if I should try to stop setting my poor heart on things. I have suffered my entire life of a vivid imagination, which has made shopping increasingly difficult. Without having seen it before, I get my mind set on exactly a style of dress, colour of blanket, the perfect gift, or, as today proved, the perfect dining suite. I have returned empty-handed from many a shopping excursion, heart full of disappointment but wallet nevertheless still full.

My kitchen is sorely in need of a hutch. I have the perfect corner nook that could be home to nothing other than a corner hutch, golden of wood and weathered of years. It would gracefully hold my breadmaker and jars of various flours, my table linens and perhaps a treasured memento or two. It would compliment my current kitchen table and also the larger leafed one I plan to add one day.

More than a month of searching came up empty. My perfect hutch does not exist; my only option likely having it custom made and built (which would not leave my wallet full!) Not only that, but my search for a table that seats six and includes a leaf with which to extend it seems to not be available any longer. Large family dinners are going out of style, I guess.

And then yesterday I remembered an online garage-sale site, where you can list items for sale by city. Although I never find anything of worth, I gave it a go. Well, lo and behold there was a beautiful antique wooden table with eight chairs, that included a leaf to seat ten. And being sold alongside was, alas, not a corner hutch, but a beautiful wall hutch that had so much character I couldn't help falling in love at first site. The entire set was being sold for $800, or best offer.

My heart skipped a beat and then raced in excitement as I tried to send a distant email that didn't express my anticipation. And then my hopes were dashed in the reply: it was sold. Of course it was sold. It was beautiful, perfect, exactly what I wanted and priced lower than either piece would sell for separately.

Ah well. I feel certain that I will never find another like it. And I'm probably right. But hopefully I will find some other addition to the house that emits that feeling that it always belonged here.

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