Roots, wings and Grandma's buffet

The night before the night before Christmas, my brother and my dad brought over my Grandmother's buffet. This beautiful antique spent many years living in a granary on my uncle's farm, until my dad rescued and lovingly restored it. When it finally arrived in my living room, I was absolutely over the moon. It is one of the first, and few pieces of real furniture we own. ("Real" meaning it's not from Ikea.) It's something I will cherish all of my days and then pass along to my descendants. Having this piece of furniture in my home gave rise to some interesting happenings. The night it arrived I couldn't stop looking at it. I decorated it. Then I sat in my living room and admired it. Throughout this process it was working on me. It gave me a strong sense of being anchored. In a good way. In the best possible way. I felt connected to my grandmother and to my roots, to my dad, to place, to history. It made me feel like I must be a real, responsible grown-up to have it in my care. I felt grateful that my family felt I was worthy of having such a lovely and meaningful heirloom. So strange that a simple piece of furniture could be imbued with so much meaning. For the last week or so I've been looking online for pictures of living room paint colours, planning how to decorate my living room around this lovely object. I was looking for something soft and neutral that would do justice to it. Something sophisticated and elegant. I found some lovely colours with names like old soul and old prairie and gentle cream. I showed them to my husband and he said "They're boring." I was a little offended and resisted this characterization. "No..." I said "they're very soothing and relaxing." He sort of shrugged and didn't say any more. (My husband is a very smart man.) Then last night I came across a picture of a living room that made my soul sing. It was a BRIGHT YELLOW. And here I was face to face with myself again. As much as I might like them to, the words "sophisticated", "elegant", "soft" and "neutral" are really not words that describe me. I am not a moderate person. I am really REALLY not a moderate person. This isn't the first time I've had this "revelation". Nor is it the first time that some of my dear friends have laughed at me for having the realization that I'm not a moderate person. As we leave 2014, I am ready to leave some of these out-dated ideas of myself in the past and to step forward into myself, as bold and eye-popping as that might be. And I'm delighted to feel that somehow my grandma was a part of that. What's that saying about roots and wings? I can't quite remember, but I think I'm living it.