Ethan Allen

On one wall, when I was growing up, there was a giant bookcase/dresser/desk/hutch combination. From the time I was very little, I remember liking it. I liked to play near it and open all the drawers. My Mom kept a great variety of things in it. There was a drawer full of greeting cards, drawers with wrapping paper, a drawer with jewelry that we got to wear to church, a drawer with some wallets made by prisoners, a drawer with several 2 dollar bills...On the shelves were some older book sets, oil lamps, a brass frog that opened his mouth when you clicked his back, a fossil, a decorative tin full of safety pins, a tiny set of antique-ish pans, including a miniature muffin tin...
Basically, it was a treasure trove for anyone under the age of 6. Or, if you have a personality like mine, you'd probably still enjoy looking at all of these varied items.

Plus, you could climb up the drawers, cling to the top of the desk portion, thread your way to the left and get to the actual top of the unit.
As a result of my gymnastic endeavors, there was always quite a bit of shouting, "Amanda, get away from the ethanallen!" and shoulder-grabbing, serious discussions, "Amanda, that ethanallen is dangerous, and we don't want you to climb on it, because it could tip over onto you..."
The ethanallen, although very dangerous, was a lot of fun.
In later elementary school, I remember going to my friend's house. They, too, had a big wall unit, shelf/desk/dresser/tv center/hutch piece of furniture. I wanted to be polite and make a good impression, so I said to the mom, "What a nice ethanallen you have."
And the Mom stared oddly and blankly at me.
Because I don't let things go, I'm sure I repeated my "intelligent" comment to that Mom several times.


When I got home, I reported my comment and the blank staring "odd" response of that parent, and I'm sure my Mom stared blankly at me as well.
Finally, she realized that I thought an ethanallen was basically any huge piece of furniture with a combination of drawers/shelves/places to set and display things, that wasn't supposed to be climbed on. She then told me that ethanallen was a brand of furniture and not a style. Ethan Allen, not ethanallen.
Well, I liked that Ethan Allen.

And so I still like it and I want a bunch of it. I don't want new Ethan Allen. I wouldn't turn that down if it was foisted upon me by some well-meaning gift giver, of course, but I really do prefer to grab at it from garage sales, and newspaper ads, and estate sales...I like thinking about who may have owned it before, and how many kids ate at the table, and who might have scratched the right corner of it and tried to hide the scratch from their parents by using brown crayon to "fix" the scratch all the while hoping and praying that no one came down the stairs to catch them...Ahem.
I like a little patina of love on the piece. (See how hoity-toity I am? I'm calling my garage sale finds "pieces".)

In some cases, it's a patina of something else, such as mold...Frank brought a table home to me last month. The seller told him fondly how it had been her parents, yet she had stored it in the basement, without any care, and it had molded in some spots. I was driven to think how little regard she must have had for the table. Didn't she want to share it with her own kids? Didn't she want to keep it nice?

In late September, I drove to STL to purchase a table and chairs. I met the sellers at a small, well-maintained home. I brought my minivan. I was hoping everything would fit. I began to load. The man hovered about. "Be careful!", he said.
"Are you sure that chair won't tip into the glass when you turn?"
"Do you think you brought enough padding?"

As I turned to tell him to "butt out", he started to say, "Are those chairs too close? Mom wouldn't want her chairs scratched."
I closed my mouth. I saw what was happening. I was at his Mom's house. For one reason or another, his Mom's table was being sold. I began to reassure him, "Look, I want you to know that I'm very excited about this set. I'm going to take very good care of it and it will be with our family a long time. I like this table set a lot, and it was kind of a birthday treat for me. My birthday was yesterday and this is a gift to myself."
His mouth opened. His wife said, "Yesterday was your birthday?"
"Yes."
"Wow!" she said.
"Wow!" he said.
Apparently, his Mom, Inez, had turned 95 years old on my birthday. My birthday was her birthday! Her birthday was my birthday! She was "with it" but had recently fallen and was going to need some more help than she could get in her own house. They were getting the house ready for sale.
He had been born in that house. Inside the actual house.
Inez had lived there for 67 years.
She'd raised all her kids there.
The Ethan Allen was her "most fancy" table.
She'd carefully cross-stitched a table cloth and eight matching napkins for the table.
They'd eaten many dinners at it. Inez would carefully get the dining room ready. She'd polish. She'd add both leaves. She'd set the table pads on top. She dress it up with decorative linens. She'd load it with dishes. She'd load it with people.
I imagine there was merriment, and as it is in truth with families, I imagine sometimes there was not.
On November 10th, I'll do the same as Inez. I'll initiate her table by celebrating Mardella's 1st birthday at it. We'll celebrate. We'll make memories. The kids will grow up liking ethanallen.

l'chaim to you Inez. l'chaim.