Front Porch Stories: When something used is a better fit than new

By KATHY BOHANNON, Special to The Weekly

Late August of 1984 we (my husband and three-year old daughter) had a house fire in the middle of the night.

We lost everything, including the dog, who was found on our child’s bed. He died trying to wake her up.

The next day found us trying to acquire toiletries and some familiar toys and books for our child. As far as population goes, Moreland was possibly half the size it is now, and we knew pretty much everyone and they knew us. News traveled fast, and many friends showed up the morning after the fire with arm loads of items because they knew our home was a total loss.

My friend Sally Estes brought boxes of toys and books for our daughter, and because we all shopped in local stores, most everything was a replica of what she had lost. My husband’s employer showed up with the company checkbook, asking what we needed. We didn’t know. He wrote a check for a few thousand dollars with no agenda for paying it back.

In the days that followed, we realized we both had singed hair from the actual fire. We had tag- teamed the rescue of our child with fire all around us. Eyebrows, hair, even his mustache were all singed. I soon developed a lifelong habit of locating exit doors wherever we go and even today, I still drill my grandlittles on getting out and gathering outside at one designated place should there be a fire.

Back then, there was a jewelry store on the courthouse square called Avery Banta and Lazenby Jewelers. I enjoyed perusing their windows on my trips “to town.” I never bought anything because financially, we just weren’t the jewelry store kind of folks.

About a week or so after the fire, I took my daughter to check out the sidewalk sales on the square in Newnan on Labor Day. It was a picture-perfect day and the weather was just right for such an adventure. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just glad to be off task of fire recovery.

The jewelers were having a sidewalk sale and some stoneware dishes caught my eye. I quickly realized I wanted dishes that had been chipped or mismatched cast offs. It would be comforting to have some items in our lives that were not brand new, as our clothing, shoes and even toothbrushes were. I carried the small stack of orphaned dishes to the clerk.

“These have chips in them, and they don’t match,” she cautioned. I told her that’s why I wanted them. I explained about the fire and how, for the exception of some toys and books, everything in our lives was brand new. I needed things that had the appearance that they had been lived with, like our old stuff. Most of our household goods had been well used.

I brought the stack of dishes back to my in-law’s house and placed them in a corner of the bedroom. They were the first things we unpacked after building our new home, almost a year later.

Last week I was in a thrift store and saw the exact pattern of those old dishes that I cherished from that Labor Day sidewalk sale. I lingered for a moment, then noticed none of the pieces were chipped. I set them back on the shelf and walked away. It was a bittersweet memory, but that Labor Day back in 1984 was the first step toward rebuilding our lives. Today I’m thankful for that time.

Kathy Bohannon is a freelance writer and can be reached at [email protected].