in an effort to simultaneously soak up, chew on, and save for later the moments that make these years of life, i’ve taken to writing eulogies to passing pieces of technology, friends like my gateway and our first tv.
today i revisited this love letter to our favorite couch. it felt strange to read, as all previous blogging happened on those cushions. that couch and its cushions now sit three stories below me, awaiting his next big adventure. today i sit here:
i want least of all to make our new friend feel unwelcome in her new surroundings. she’s lovely in her petite, unassuming way. we rescued her from a dark place full of abandoned furniture and lurking salesmen. her tiny frame measured just small enough to take the tight turns of our staircase. i searched for the brave little toaster there as well, to no avail.
with mixed feelings, we introduced the nice lady to our old couch. the couch we couldn’t fit up the stairs, inside or out. the couch luke and his dad struggled to hang on to, awkwardly and perilously perched on our rickety three-story fire escape for a loooooong 20 minutes before i climbed beneath the poor thing and helped them back down the shaky stairs one by one. the couch we dropped to the ground at last, a “well that was a bad idea/near death experience” look passed between father and son. the nice lady tried out those cushions, and of course was amazed at their comfort. i didn’t mention that they like to slide out – thinking they’d certainly like to introduce themselves. we explained the small spots and tears and accepted her deposit and promise to return to pick him up.
now he waits in the dark basement.
i have an overwhelming urge to climb down there and take one last nap. a sort of farewell smooshing. i think he would like that.
as this friend lives on, i write a letter instead of my customary eulogy.
i bid you adieu with all the love in my heart. thank you for holding my butt and the butts of my friends and loved ones with such loyalty and care. i hope you understand our parting has nothing to do with your performance or place in our family. our staircase was simply built in an unforgiving time which didn’t understand the wonders of bigger boned furniture. enjoy your new home. they have pets and seem very nice.