Buying Furniture

I can still remember the day, with all its vivid details.

Chad and I, newly cohabiting, drove to a nearby town to look for furniture to replace the hodge podge collection of old couches and end tables we'd collected from years of living alone. We walked into the furniture store, determined to buy something reasonably priced and beige.

We sat on the couches, cuddled on the love seats and wandered a store filled with moss green, beige, cream and brown. We passed a display of armories and stopped abruptly. There, clustered together, was The Set. The raspberry red couch, apple green love seat, and lemon yellow chair stood out brightly among the surrounding earth tones. I sat in the chair and grinned, "It's like Steve's chair in Blue's Clues."

We knew it was the set for us, but the price was a bit higher than we'd anticipated and, truthfully, I was a little apprehensive buying furniture with a man I'd only known a few months and lived with for a few weeks.

We decided to take a walk to decide. We strolled down the hill to an ice cream parlor where I ordered a scoop of Heath bar crunch. Licking my cone, my free hand in Chad's, we talked about the furniture. All the way up the hill, we ran the numbers while ice cream dripped down our fingers.

When we arrived at the furniture store, we looked again and knew.

We had to buy it.

That furniture set arrived in our little apartment and witnessed Chad's proposal, the arrival of Maggie Dog, game nights, parties, and marathon chess games. It collected needles at Christmas, held my wedding dress, and then boxes of gifts. It was moved to a new house and saw more parties, sleep overs, nights cuddling, and lazy days of watching movies. Mountains of books were read on it, food was spilled on it, Legos were  hidden it in, tears were wept on it. When we brought Joseph home from the hospital, I slept on it, my feet propped on the arms. Elizabeth lay on it, both kids jumped on it, and we couldn't keep Maggie off it. It's where I nursed both of my babies and where I spent hundreds of hours pumping. It was where we sat to open presents and toast New Years.

It was where I was sitting when Chad told me he wanted to get a divorce.

So many memories were wrapped in the fibers of that brightly colored material. They started to distract me, pull me towards the past, prevent me from seeing the future.

I tried moving it around.

I tried covering it.

And still the memories flooded.

Finally, on Saturday, I'd had enough. I loaded the kids in the car and drove to a local furniture store. I walked in expecting to get a new set one step up from IKEA.

And then, with my babies bouncing off every display piece, I sank down into a earth toned sofa, piled with pillows, and knew I had to buy the set.

It's slightly smaller in depth and width, but so much taller it dominates the room. When I sit, my feet can't touch the floor. Elizabeth needs a boost from her brother to crawl up the plump cushions. And it's brown.

It's the color of the earth. It anchors the room and gives me a never ending choice of accent colors. Purples, pinks, reds, greens, oranges, yellows, blues...a palate as limitless as I want.

For right now? Red. Red for fall and Christmas. Red for strength and power. Red for warmth and comfort. In a few months, I'll change the colors. Maybe blue for spring skies. Or lavender for the flowers that grow in big clumps around the driveway.

What memories will these pieces of wood and spring and fabric hold? What stories will they witness? I can't wait to find out!