Tuesday, Aug. 17, 2004 - 4:18 P.M.

In my grandmother�s lifetime, she acquired quite a slew of antique furniture, glassware, wooden frames, ironwork, and all manner of old things, really. When she passed, those things were inherited by my mother who passed away about 10 years ago. Upon my mother�s passing, all of those items, as well as a myriad of legitimate antique miscellany and sadly, a motley collection of items that only looked antique because they were four-layer dirt encrusted, passed to me.

I write that to give you a tinge of background on various items I have in my home. My living room contains antique furniture of the extremely stuffy and hoity-toity variety. The problem is that I am neither stuffy nor hoity-toity and this furniture does not fit my personality or lifestyle. However, since it has been in my family for such a long time, I don�t feel like I could or should stick it in a storage facility. Or sell it. Although, I must admit, after 35 years of seeing this furniture, I really really wish I could.

In addition to the living room furniture, there are other antique-y items scattered throughout the house. A large oak tree stump chopping block, an iron horse head hand towel holder, an old rake head that serves as a utensil holder. Most of them are relegated to a storage area we have in our house that is not big enough for furniture but holds ancient glassware and old, odd-shaped, grime covered Avon cologne bottles nicely. And lamps. Lots and lots of lamps and their corresponding (if by �corresponding� you mean �clashing�) lampshades. These lamps are not used in my home due to the fact they are (a) the ass end of ugly, (b) phallic shaped or (c) the most bizarre colors imaginable. In some cases, all three. The shades are even worse.

A few weeks ago while my 2 year old and I were in said storage area and I was rooting around for some photo or another, he was trying lampshades on his head. As one would, of course. Well, as I said, these things are ancient. Alas it crumpled and frumpled and broke immediately. So, I tossed it. Perhaps I even take the two year old with an appetite for destruction into the storage area subconsciously hoping he�ll wreak holy havoc. Perhaps. Anyhow, after years of feeling like it would be a betrayal to my family if I got rid of any of these items it felt good to see the old thing sitting by the trash can. Unfortunately, that wasn�t the last place I�d see it.

Since the trash folk have picked up that lampshade and it has been presumably compacted and left to a landfill, I�ve seen this ugly, orange-colored, stain-streaked lampshade four times. How many pleated, Abraham-Lincoln-hat shaped (see?) lampshades can there be?

I�ve seen it on the side of the interstate on my way to work. I�ve seen it in a grocery store parking lot. I�ve seen it in a (consignment shop) store front window. And, recently, I saw it in a vacant, overgrown lot in the �hood. Clearly there are entities at work who are very unhappy I possessed such a cavalier, joyful attitude at its destruction. The lampshade, the entities, maybe both, are toying with me.

Of course, I know it can�t possibly be the same one. Or can it?

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� Purplecigar

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