My friend Laurie’s Italian cousin is renovating her family home in a more contemporary style.
Her aunt had lived there before, and the house was filled with old things—everything from jars and dressers to trophies, kitchenware, buffets, nightstands, bed frames, and countless other treasures. Even the old tile floors are being removed. She invited us into her home and encouraged Laurie to take whatever she wanted.
We tried to convince her to keep some of the pieces, telling her how beautifully old furniture and vintage objects can complement a contemporary home. But she wouldn’t hear it.
In a way, that’s fortunate for me because I love old things, and I happen to live in a country overflowing with them. At the same time, it’s bittersweet to watch old homes be stripped of their historic interiors in pursuit of something modern. But things change. Styles change. Life changes. I understand that.
One thing I’ve come to realize after living in France for nearly 40 years is that when you’ve spent your entire life surrounded by centuries-old buildings, antique furniture, and history at every turn, it’s natural to crave something new—something that speaks a different aesthetic language.
Laurie brought home a dresser, a buffet, a light fixture, and some shelving. But the piece that meant the most to her was her great-aunt’s wooden cutting board and rolling pin. There was still flour clinging to the cutting board from the last time gnocchi had been made on it.
We carried them down the worn stone steps through the village to Laurie’s home, a place lovingly filled with the beautiful leftovers of things that other people no longer wanted.
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