“Alright” I said, laughing. “We’ll go see. But I’m not buying any furniture!”
My Mom and I were turning left instead of right, on a whim. We thought we were making a quick trip to Superstore for sour cream, but no. Now we were on a fun excursion to The Brick.
Just to look.
We’d been in this Brick before. After working at my first job for quite some time and not being a big spender, Mom convinced me of my first big purchase in life: 2 great little red chairs. The kind you see tucked in corners or hotel lobbies or at reading tables in snazzy cafes. Real furniture. A great size for a living room, bedroom, apartment or nook, they could be used anywhere.
Mine, though much loved by me, live in my parents’ living room.
More recently my mom was the one who urged me to take home a small fold-down, antique desk from a neighbour’s moving sale. Again, a good choice. Useful and quaint, I love this piece too. However, writing desks are not something one packs in a suitcase as they traipse across countries, it would seem.
The desk makes a great piece for Mom’s guest room.
So today when my mom suggested just a quick stop to see what the Brick had (after a weekend of picking up odds and ends for the house and convincing her we did not need anything more), I teased that she just wanted me to buy more furniture to leave at her house in a year.
“We’ll just go see. We don’t need to buy anything.” She said.
We open the door.
I chatter away as I follow her in.
8 feet inside the door we see it directly in front of the door.
“Anna! That loveseat is 48 dollars.“
So was the couch next to it.
“Per month? No.” I read the sign. Simple. Too simple. It can’t be right.
We break into incredulous grins. The situation is priceless.
“Anna! How are these still here? This is unheard of. It can’t be right. Here, you go ask, I’ll sit here, in front of the price, what if someone else walks in? Go find someone. Is this per month?” She is aflutter.
I have a funny look on my face. It’s what happens when I try to hold in amazed laughter and awe and try to eat my words all at once.
Just last night we had discussed living room furniture.
We had a couch, but
Let’s just say it was time for it to go.
I find a salesman. He’s older and has a fun accent.
“Excuse me, but I have a question about the couch and loveseat set by the front door. Are they really $48 apiece?”
Affirming this, he pointed out the small tears in each one and said they were priced for quick sale because they were floor models. I said that was fine. “Alright then. I’d like to buy a couch and loveseat please.” I stated. A phone call and 5 minutes later, friends were there with a pick up to haul them to our house. I spent $107. Originally priced, the set would have been $1,070.
I was young and now I am old,
yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken
or their children begging bread.
I have been so very, very well taken care of this fall. “Anna, this is a God thing. Seriously. This does not happen. Those are nice couches.” My Mother told me. She’s right. I don’t know why we have them, but I am thankful.
I am thankful too, for the family who’s three basically-grown children decided to become vegetarians, prompting their mother to bring us a boxful of premium, home-farm beef. And the uncles and aunts who check my tires, give us crock pots and offer their pick up truck whenever we need. For siblings who move and clean out their pantries, leaving us with plenty of chocolate chips, blankets, and earl grey tea.
For the mothers that send me home with yogurts for our lunches and leftover desserts. For the families that say “Come over for dinner” and the old teachers that say “give us your phone number. I know a guy.” I am thankful for the man who says “Do you like bear meat?” and the families who send me home from babysitting with too much cash or homemade muffins for the boys.
I am thankful for the parents who come to visit and clean my stove and hang pictures. Who ask about work and admire our vacuum and fill my gas tank and make soup for the freezer. Just because they want to.
I am so, so spoiled.
I am so, so blessed.