I found a treasure chest at my favorite thrift store. It was a poor, homely, wobbly, crayoned chest sitting forlornly by the door as we were leaving. It was ugly. Really. I almost didn’t look at it twice. The finish was a white washed, peeling oak. The back of the base was broken off on the right side so it tipped drunkenly if you sat on it. It looked kind of…ugg…outdated. Not my style at all. But it was a Lane, so I looked anyway.
Then…drumroll…we opened it up. Inside was the most beautiful, pristine cedar. It was in mint condition, with original tags and all. October 1954. The chest was 57 years old and in amazingly good shape despite the cosmetic mess. I bit the bullet and plunked down $38, called my sister and begged for her truck, then carted that baby home.
Please ignore the messy porch. This is my high tech workspace.
I showed my find to my mother-in-law, who, can you believe it, used to own the 1953 version of the exact same trunk. I believe she got it as a high school graduation present. I felt a little bad about calling it butt ugly before showing it to her. Sigh. One day I'll learn.