When I tell you I love thrift stores, I mean it. My wardrobe, furniture, knick knacks all pretty much started as someone else’s, and that’s how I like it. I very quickly went from tween to grandma, and exist somewhere in the middle now, but when it came time to move out on my own, for the very first time, my abuelita coping mechanisms came alive. I hit up several thrift stores to make sure I outfitted my new home with (way) too much stuff, but I was after warmth and comfort. My first shot of independence required lots and lots of warmth and comfort to keep my nervous heart steady and brave. It was then I found this painting, and I’ve been carting this thing with me ever since.
And it’s huge, let me tell you. I dragged it to every single apartment we lived in. It was so cozy and welcoming. It was like watching QVC with my mom on a soft, fall afternoon. It was my pièce de résistance. Over the years it got slipped into a closet, but I couldn’t get rid of it. There’s a tiny old couple walking down that nice, autumn street, and they were waiting for me to make this a showpiece again.
After living in my own home now for several years, one that I find very warm and cozy and (thankfully) not as cluttered, I knew I was ready for my painting. So, with a beloved Parks & Rec quote in hand, I was ready to make it my forever piece. A “we’re gonna grow old with this one” piece.
That bad boy is up on the big shelf, lording over us again. I’m proud of seventeen year-old me for being brave and picking it out, for twenty year-old me dragging it up (and down) another set of stairs, and for twenty-nine year-old me not being afraid to mess with it and make it completely ours.