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Said goodbye to a table that was kind of an heirloom, but moving. Part of why I kept it so long is because it has my dad’s goofy tag from when he was a kid. I guess he and his dorky buds put it all over LA in the 60s:
Basically it was this huge, surfboard-shaped coffee table with just so much abalone encased in lacquer. It’s from the 60s and was my grandmother’s, and it was cool, but also very morbid, and so so heavy.
I kept it because we don’t really have heirlooms in our family, and I remember when my grandmother died, he told me to take whatever furniture I could because “it’s your legacy.”
This was more sad than anything, but I dragged this table to to Oakland and a storage unit and then Santa Fe. And I’m loading up my Prius with my suitcases for london, my dog, and all my art to keep at my dad’s house in LA, and while I was loading my car, Svenska ran outside.
Normally this would be no problem, but she knows Something Big Is Happening and she was super scared. I live on a busy street. She was panicking as I loaded up the car and probably thought I was going to leave without her, forever.
As she panicked across my driveway, she managed to knock over the tabletop, cracking the lacquer, and my first thought was “is she ok?” At that moment, I realized I didn’t have to carry around this heavy-ass table anymore, because I love her and she’s with me & all I care about.
I don’t have a lot of objects at all, but the things I’ve kept are reminders of people I’ve loved and reminders that I’ve been loved. No object is going to bring anybody back. I’ve got a big perfect dog and she’s enough to worry about. 
I do have these goddamned BOWLS from HomeGoods that my mom gave me, she called it HomeGoods Whore House because she was really inappropriate and weird, but also very funny and I loved her. (I still love her.)
I will take the bowls to my dad’s house. I kept them in storage when I was in Denmark. They are admittedly excellent bowls for baking and storage, but I have carried them miles and miles and miles. Anyway, now’s the part of packing/moving where I cry about what’s gone now.
