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A retro lifestyle designed by castoff family furnishings
The people who make the style decisions say that the "retro" look is now in. Oh goody, this means that that 30-year-old reject couch I bought on my grandparents' auction for $7.50 with the pea green and orange floral cushions is actually fashionable. And, here I was, trying to disguise it with slipcushions and throw pillows--silly me. My apartment looks like the set of the Brady Bunch, my kitchen utensils are the leftovers from my mother's and sister's cupboards and I own a behemoth of a vintage console TV that used to belong to my grandfather. I should be thrilled, and not depressed--who knew? Anymore there are television shows dedicated to home interior design that advocate dumpster-diving for "found" objects to recycle into chairs an lamps and such. Hey, for once I'm ahead of the trends. You know, some families actually pass down heirloom jewelry, china settings, or antique furniture. Instead, my family passes down Tupperware and microwaves. Actually, just one microwave in particular--a 300-pound, circa-1979, hand-me-down Amana I inherited from my paternal grandparents. This thing is the size of a small nuclear reactor and takes two people to move. But, it was a free microwave so I didn't complain when I threw my back out attempting to get it into my little, second-story apartment. I figured that even with the price of the chiropractor added into the bill I was coming out ahead. In its former life, it was one of the first microwave ovens to find its way into our little community in the 1980s. At the time, it was pretty new technology and my grandmother was the envy of the ladies in the women's church group. So much so, that I recall neighbors dropping by to watch her punch buttons and "ooh" and "ahhh" over boiled water. What can I say, our people are easily amused. I have to give that microwave credit though, it endured Grandma's cooking, part of my brother's bachelorhood, and storage in my parents' garage before it came to my apartment. It was practically indestructible, and perfect for someone starting out on her own, like myself. There comes a time, though, when even heirlooms find their way out the door. The microwave developed hot and cold spots and I did the dance of the potholders everytime I had to nuke a bowl of leftovers. My electric meter "zinged" as I fired it up and it made this "whoom-whoom-whoom" noise when I tried to make popcorn. I'm pretty certain that if I'd figured out the right combination of buttons, I could have accidentally launched a nuclear warhead from its silo in Omaha, Neb., while trying to boil water. And, frankly, the last thing I needed was the military knocking on my door because all I wanted was a bowl of Ramen noodles. So, I found the gentle giant a new home and brought in a sleek little number to replace it. I never knew I had so much counter space in my kitchen. Contrary to what you're probably thinking, I am grateful that my family is looking out for my best interests by letting me have their cast-offs. Afterall, I realize that not everyone can have matching pillowcases, or towels, or even dishclothes in their twenties. Thank Heaven, then, for those nameless style gurus who think I've got it made. Bring on the television cameras boys, I bet you've never seen style like mine. Jennifer Latzke can be reached by phone at 620-227-1807, or by e-mail at jlatzke@hpj.com. Date: 4/27/04
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