Objects have lives; they are witness to things. This is a sentimental and true statement. I heard it while driving home one night on This American Life's episode "House on Loon Lake" (hear it here).
Setting aside the obligatory photos, handed-down jewelry, and other family-centric items, my most prized possessions are not valuable. My apartment is crammed with thrifted and found objects which I've paid little or nothing for. I find that the less I end up paying for something, the more I value it; it is like a little survivor which I don't own so much as am in temporary possession of.
My friend Meg found one such item last week. I received a message from her one night that said, "Look what I rescued from the dumpster room in my building!" She sent a photo of an adorable white writing desk; I was happy for and jealous of her.
Here are some before and after shots:
More after the jump...
On one hand, I don't understand why people put perfectly good things like writing desks in the trash.
Finding it is like getting an anonymous gift from the world.
Your Sister in Craft,
LB
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