“Better hang on to it just in case” ~boomers

The table is never the issue. The problem are the impratical heavy and bulky chairs. I could put the table against a wall and use it as a countertop move it to the center once in a blue moon when I receive lots of people. But what should a do with chair to feel up a room?

My grandparents had a table that could seat 24. It was insanely big, but made for some nice holiday memories.

It won’t fit between the hutch, buffet, and five corner cabinets.

In this economy, I’ll need it for firewood soon.

It’s on the front page of Reddit now.

I was raised by my grandma but over to another country, she died and my dad and aunts got the house I grew up and everything. I never expected to inheritance anything anyway so it’s was no problem. When I came back for Christmas I joke that I did get anything, not even a bag of her ash. One of my aunts were like aww, is true, let me find something from here that you could take home and came back with a fucking 12 tomes British enciclopedia. I laughed my ass off and told her that she was crazy if she tough I was going to travel back with something I already have in my phone.

They’re lovely pieces of furniture and yes absolutely better than IKEA fingerboard but there’s no way I can fit a 2.5m2 table into my 100m2 house.

I really don’t like how it’s so common nowadays for furniture to not even outlive one person. It became fashion thanks to IKEA. Fuck IKEA.

I have a big bread baker’s Hoosier cabinet in my kitchen. I’m not a baker, I’ve never had any use for it.

Very similar to this one, with a flour sifter, and slide-out porcelain steel table:

My older sister shipped it to me without asking me, and then told me it was coming about two days before it arrived. Our mom had just died, and my sister didn’t have room for it, but she “wanted it to stay in the family.”

It is a beautiful piece, solid oak, probably over 100 years old. So, I kept it. It just sits there, taking up space in my barely-big-enough kitchen. I expect when I die, my only son will sell it. I should probably just sell it now, my sister would hate me for it, though.

A friend of mine lost his 4 generations old family home in some bushfires about 10 years ago. He will never admit it to his extended family but he says it was a blessing.

His house was full of shit that as nice as it was and the sentimental value of the huge dining table that great grandad built with the tree that got brought down in the storm in the top paddock in 32 was real. He felt like he couldnt change anything, couldnt sell anything and was stuck living in his grandparents house.

If a landlord can split a 100m2 apartment into five 20m2 studios, she needs to cut up the table and make 5 leaner, easier to implement, 2.4 person tables. Embrace the hustle grindset, mom.

A few years ago my wife and I decided to finish the basement. The first step was to clean it out, which involved going through all the junk that I had inherited from various family members. My mom always asserted that all of it was very valuable and CONSTANTLY checked that I still had it all and was taking good care of it.

I went through each item one by one and looked them up. Dishes, nick knacks, all of it. It took me hours. The highest value item was maybe $10. Several large and heavy boxes that I had been obligated to haul around to all of the places I lived for the last 30 years, as my mother constantly asked me about them. It was all worth maybe $100, if I made the effort to attempt to sell it. Which would have taken a lot of time as we’re talking dozens of fragile things. It just was not worth it.

I shoved it all into the trunk of my car and took it to the dump. My Mom died in 2011, so she wasn’t around to check up on all that crap.

God damn I was so pissed. 30 fucking years of hauling that worthless junk around probably cost far more than it was worth. My mother was so insistent that I even had it sitting around taking up space in my basement 12 years after her death. Just another one of her little power plays.