Nothing is ever old.🌻

I love when the weather breaks after Winter.

More birds are singing, the grass gets green, stuff grows, the sun seems to shine brighter, and just everything seems hopeful.

One of the things I enjoy about decorating is as seasons change. Another, is all the old things that seem new. I love old items. Worn things. Maybe things that have been around for years, or things that someone might be tossing away.

Nothing in my opinion is “too old.” Except maybe mascara. But that’s a different subject, for another day.

Several years ago, my husband created this headboard from old pallets from his work place. Just two. There was a lot of sawing and hammering, and I think a 12 pak.🍻

The results though of that repurpose, I just love.

That led to another and one after the repurpose of so many things!! An old gas grill turned into a potting table, an old discarded cabinet piece, tuned into a coffee table, a shutter he found on a burn pile, a railroad sign from a restaurant’s garbage heap, a telephone stand from the side of a road, an old wood ironing board found under a porch in a house we lived in, windows from construction sites. I could go on, but I feel out of breath!

Then there are things that remind us of others. Perhaps that are no longer here, but some things are still here.

My mom passed away a year ago. Here and there I have simple reminders of her. Her Blue Willow dishes for one. She loved those. Talked about them, told stories about them, admired them. I have a few sitting around. Gentle reminders of her smile. A gravy boat she once gave me, and an interesting pottery vase she gave me too. Little things, mean almost everything.

I experienced another loss, my Mother In Law, a few shorts months after my Mom.

Over the years, she gave me a lot of things.

I placed spring flowers in her Champagne Flutes she gave me. I also have her old jewelry box. Its worn. Inside it tells such a story of her, that I cherish having it.

Things around our spaces need to make us feel at home. We can surround ourselves with memories, warmth, joy, ups and downs, just from the little things. I remember looking at an old lightbulb that was in a tool box here at this house. I’m sure it worked, and someone flipped it on and off once. I wondered if it was on a porch, flipped on waiting for someone to get home. Maybe it was in a lamp as someone read the paper. Maybe it lit up a set of steps, flipped on so they could see going up, or going down. I used it. Nothing is ever really old.