Guest Blogger. Please enjoy the incredible writing of Darcy Fileri
by Darcy Flierl
Who would think a silly, made from plywood, spray black painted bookshelf, could mean so much? I’ve had it since I was 17 years old. It was given to me when I was provided my own “half a house” in our residence. I had my own bathroom, bedroom, TV room and living room furnished with a very cool papason couch and chair. I even had a private entrance.
I can see the room in my mind’s eye. The coffee and end tables, black granite and iron décored, were heavy and stable. They had been my parents at one time. My mom had acquired them while working at a furniture store, several years before I was born. She enjoyed decorating my room with a spree at Pier 1 Imports. She found this great table with a book shelf as its base and even found a bookshelf tapestry to match it. I really miss the large green hand carved fish that sat firmly on one of the granite tables. I often wonder which move I decided I know longer needed it? I have a vague recollection of a fin breaking and being glued back on and then breaking again and just giving up on it.