Mahogany Sofa, 1825; Indianapolis Museum of Art, American Decorative Arts Gallery. Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Norris Chumley in memory of Ruth W. Buskirk
The sofa I noticed at the furniture store was also a sectional that curved into right angle, with a recliner on each end, just like what we already had (minus the sagging cushions and scratching-post fabric treatment). It even had an extra piece with a cup holder that I knew Mike would like. It had caught my attention because I had just visited family out of state and been sitting on a slightly larger version of the same sofa. I had already admired the construction and comfort.
Mike liked it, too, but we had a concern about the recliners; they were powered by electricity. They were very nice to operate, except our sofa sits in the middle of the room. Electrical cords would need to run across the carpet at both ends, causing a potential tripping hazard.
We spent the evening discussing the pros and cons and doing some research on the internet. Oh, did I mention there was a sale going on that was close to a deadline? Nothing like a little pressure when facing a major decision. We returned the following day and our salesman was thrilled to see us. He hastily elbowed past his co-workers and could be heard clearly announcing, "Mine! I saw them first yesterday! Out of the way ... they're mine!"
We explained our concerns and found out that the recliners were available in the standard, non-motorized version at a reduced cost, so that clinched the deal. Speaking of cost, how is it possible that I could zero in on the most expensive sofa in the showroom without even trying?
I didn't waste any time ordering plastic protectors for the ends of the sofa to discourage the current cat duo from clawing our new investment. All I can say is that old broken bar stool turned out to be very, very pricey!
Our new sofa was delivered two and a half weeks early. That's not such a bad thing, unless you aren't prepared. You see ... I had it all strategically planned out, with ample time before the expected delivery; almost six unhurried weeks! But none of those actions had taken place when the furniture store called and said they would deliver in a few days. It wasn't all my fault ... much of it hinged on certain chores happening that were a bit out of my control. (That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.) Now I was under another tight deadline.
First of all, I needed to shampoo the living room carpet; however, Mike had decided he was ready to get rid of the 70-gallon fish tank in the living room. A friend two houses down from us wanted the tank and fish. Most of the tank stand sat on the tile hearth in front of the unused fireplace. The face of the tank and stand bowed outward into a gentle curved front, which came out across the edge of the carpet. It was logical to move the tank before shampooing. Naturally, that's not what happened. Our neighbor's schedule was hard to work with and some procrastination came into play as well. I just couldn't wait any longer.
Mike and I had to shove furniture to one half of the room (up against the fish tank) so I could get to the area that had been beneath the old sofa. I vacuumed and shampooed. The next day we shoved everything back to the other side so I could vacuum and shampoo the other half (except for that inaccessible bit under the fish tank). The third day it all went back into proper position. The cats were anxious about all this activity and quite perplexed.
The morning of the delivery, Mike decided to speed things along by moving the sectional sofa out to the driveway before the delivery truck arrived. He got most of it out by himself, but it took both of us to get the curved corner section out. It wasn't 10 minutes before our neighbor, Jerry (now conveniently on vacation), walked up and wanted to know if we needed any help. Great timing, buddy!
I hauled out the vacuum and hit the area again. Oh, in case I've never mentioned it, one cat is terrified of the vacuum and the other isn't exactly fond of it. They'd had quiet enough of all that vacuuming and shampooing. Truthfully, I felt the same at that point.
The delivery men set up the sectionals and since it wasn't exactly the same proportions as the old sofa, I had to walk around it several times asking them to shove it a couple inches this way and a smidgeon that way. Laugh if you will, but I'm the rare sort of person who does not rearrange furniture once it's in place. Ever.
They hooked the sectional pieces together and left. I stood there critically eyeing the placement. Mike took one look at my face and knew what was coming (bless his patient heart). As it was currently assembled the sides were almost symmetrical, but if one section was moved to the other side, creating more of an L-shape, it would fit the room much more like the old sofa. So before the furniture truck ever made it back to the showroom a mere two miles down the road, we were taking things apart and rearranging.
Then Jerry returned and asked, "Do you want to move that fish tank now?" Like I mentioned before; great timing.
We spent the next couple of hours draining water and pulling out tank decorations while frequently dripping fishy- smelling water on the clean carpet. At one point Mike tripped over the hose I was using to siphon water. It jerked out of my hands and sprayed water on the carpet and ... (you guessed it) ... the end of the new sofa. My recliner, to be exact. Fortunately the fabric had been treated to repel spills, but it didn't repel the psychological trauma in my mind. Ick! Jerry grabbed one of the many towels I had spread out and wiped the sofa as I grabbed the hose and speculated about how high my blood pressure had just spiked.
The tank stand and tank had to be lifted over one end of the sofa (I was afraid to peek) and set on a furniture dolly to transport down the sidewalk to Jerry's house. Meanwhile, I took a deep breath, counted to 10, and pulled out the vacuum for the second time that day. I subsequently shampooed the previously clean area that had been baptized with fish tank water and the small section that was once underneath the tank.
Most people seem to embrace change, but I'm not one of them. Regardless, I had a perfect plan on how all this was going to happen. Trust me: that wasn't it!
PS – A year has passed since the trauma of replacing a bar stool. Jerry has just had some new flooring done over at his house (and yes, it involved moving that 70-gallon fish tank; so there is such a thing as karma). But that got Mike and I talking about our worn out carpeting (perhaps partly due to the necessity of excessive vacuuming and shampooing). So we have started looking at new flooring options. Pray for us.
©2016 Roberta McReynolds for SeniorWomen.com
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