I’m standing in my kitchen eating a bowl of oatmeal. I changed up my mix a little today and made it more soupy. I’ve been making my oatmeal too dry lately. I don’t use a recipe. I work in the kitchen by feel. Today I got it right.

I’m also staring at my laptop on the kitchen table across the room. This is the writer’s process. Sit and stare up close. Walk away and stare from afar.

I started this dance two hours ago. I’m gonna go do something else for a while until the inspiration comes.

Three hours later.

Since I’ve been gone, I vacuumed three rooms, hung three pictures, washed, dried, and put away two loads of clothes. I cleaned out three drawers, ate one biscuit, and reassembled a mirror on an old dresser.

When I’m sucking wind as a writer, I find it helpful to be so busy I don’t have time to think about writing. I had thought I might write about having lunch at Publix, which I found completely odd. Marion’s grandson, Caleb, was busy the other day catching frogs, which brought back a lot of memories.

Nothing shouted, “Write me.”

But the old dresser this morning spoke to me.

I have no idea how old it is, but I know it began its life in England. Beth’s Aunt Francis married a soldier, and they were stationed in England for a while during the 40’s. The dresser was one of the few things they held on to after the war. Solid oak. Three drawers. Stout, curved legs. A mirror that tilts.

A young Army couple doesn’t have much by way of worldly possessions. Too many moving vans. Too many relocations. Pack smart and get it done. But the dresser survived. It made it back to the States, home to Selma.

Beth’s uncle died before I ever came into the family, but I knew her Aunt Francis, one of her dad’s older sisters. I have a picture, and therefore the memory, of her sitting on the floral couch in Beth’s living room. It was Christmas 1976.

I had just given Beth her engagement ring. Aunt Francis was leaning forward to get a better look. Both hands clasped on her knees. Her grey hair curled tightly against her head. She gave me a hug and I became an adopted son of Selma.

I’m sure that after her husband passed, she began the process of downsizing and getting rid of some things she didn’t really need or have room for anymore. Beth, as a young girl, ended up with the dresser. Besides her bed, it was the only other piece of furniture in her tiny bedroom.

It was hers until we got married and she moved away from home. My folks let us have my bedroom furniture and we just didn’t need it. So, the dresser stayed behind.

I’m a little lost on some of the journey, but as a lot of family pieces of furniture do, it got passed around. I’m guessing Alice, her older sister, ended up with it. Could have been Susan, the younger sister. But from the number of stickers that I scraped off the mirror and the wooden frame, I’d say that it lived some of its life in the bedroom of a niece or nephew who loved Sponge Bob, a lot.

Life brings change. Beth’s mama died in 1998. Her younger sister just five years later. The nieces and nephews were growing up. It came up that the dresser needed a new home.

The dresser was a little beat up and worn. The hardware that held the mirror to the side-posts was missing. But it was a part of the family. Beth’s older sister didn’t have room for it. I was volun-told to drive my truck over to Selma and bring it home.

“Where are we gonna put it?”

I thought it sounded like a reasonable question. None of our bedrooms had space for it.

“I don’t know,” she said, “but I’m not letting it go to Goodwill.”

For years the dresser sat in our front entry hall. The mirror and side-posts were stored in the attic. It served as kind of a hall table. An old clock sat on it that had belonged to my great-grandmother. Family pictures. Various knick-knacks. It was a dust magnet more than anything.

Our kids grew up. Bedrooms underwent the typical transformation. Putrid paint colors were covered up. Posters on the walls and things hanging from the ceiling came down. Each room was turned into something of a more functional use. It was then that the dresser made the move from the front hall to the bedroom that would become our office space.

For a long time now, the dresser has been the table for our printer. The drawers are stuffed with games and puzzles for the grandkids. The room has been kind of a catch-all-makeshift-bedroom for over 15 years.

This week I’ve been working on getting rid of the clutter in that room. I cleaned out the file drawers and hauled off bags of ancient medical, tax, and bank documents to the shredder in Columbus. The file cabinet, several chairs, an old TV, lamp, and other items went to Goodwill.

But the dresser remains.

Yesterday, I decided it was time to get the mirror out of the attic. I found the threaded ferrules, bolts, and washers I needed at the hardware store. This morning, I used some antique flat screws from my shop to reattach the side-posts. I don’t like putting old furniture back together with new fasteners if I can help it.

I polished the dresser and moved it back against the wall. Then I got the notion that it needed something else old around it. I went back up in the attic and found my Aunt Mary Elisa Chappell’s high school diploma. The frame is worn. The glass is broken in one corner. She graduated from Hampton High in 1919. The perfect accent.

It’s strange to me that objects of wood and paper and glass can create and hold such a powerful influence over us. An enamel bowl from my mama’s kitchen. A pair of pliers from my dad’s toolbox. A worn-out cap. A beat-up old wooden dresser.

We keep so many things that are of no practical use to us. I don’t need an oak dresser, even if it did come from England nearly 80 years ago. The mirror is not clear. The finish is scratched. The drawers are stiff.

But it’s a part of our family history. A young army wife once stood here to brush her hair and put on her earrings. A freckle-faced young girl once danced to the Beatles in front of this mirror, but only if the bedroom door was closed and no one was looking.

Now my granddaughters will use it when they visit.

I never cared about this dresser until today. Today I’m glad I went and got it all those years ago. Putting it back together has reminded me of how much life changes and how much we grow through those changes. For that I am grateful.

Memories and old dressers live forever.