The Safe

My father bought the safe at an auction at Texas School for the Deaf when I was ten.  It was pretty old then--I'm not going to say how old it is now.  For years it sat in our garage.  I don't remember my parents keeping anything in it.  After Daddy died, my husband asked if we could have it.  He hauled it back to Houston, and his buddy still jokes about the difficulty they had getting it into our garage.  It must weigh close to 1000 pounds.  It's beautiful inside, with flowery material lining the bottom, small drawers and cabinets inside that can be locked and double doors with the outside locked by a combination locked and the next set with a key. 

Before he died, my husband asked that I save it to his son, Bryan, Now that I'm getting ready to move (later than expected--they postponed the move-in date, much to my annoyance) it is the right time for Bryan to have it.  He came in from Bastrop by himself.  I expected at least two or three helpers but he strode into the garage and announced he could move it himself.  It took several hours but darned if he didn't manage.

I'm feeling nostalgic.  I will miss the old safe.  It's been part of my life for so long and I'm very protective of old things..  Not that I've spent much time with it, but it's always been there, an object from my childhood that has hung around. But it wouldn't fit in my new 2-bedroom apartment; it would stick out like a sore thumb.  So now it's off to the next generation, and fortunately Bryan didn't break his back moving it into his truck.  I know he'll take good care of it.  He likes old things, too.