Nine years ago I went out with my mom and bought a terrific furniture set. It was modern, like me, with brushed metal and glass tables and a fabric pattern that was neutral and sophisticated. This living and dining room furniture set saw me through the last spell of my single girlhood and through my first marriage. When I got divorced, I got out with the furniture set and little else. The lovely set did some time in a storage unit while I got my life together as a newly single woman, then came out and adorned the living and dining rooms once again.
When Jeff and I moved into our house in January, we were advised to ditch the furniture set and turn the “formal living room” into an office. I balked at this idea since my stylish furniture still looked as brand new as the day I bought it, and would look fantastic in the respective rooms. The couch, loveseat and chair looked amazing in the formal living room, and the matching coffee table and end tables complimented the 4-seat dining room set directly across the hall. The fabric pattern matched the paint, and all was well.
Six months later, reality hit. The beautiful formal living room might as well have had a velvet rope on its entry way, because the only time a human being ever stepped foot in that room was when I dusted it every two weeks. While having guests over for dinner, I came to the realization that the glass-top table that sat four people perfectly was now too small for a family of three plus three guests.
After my guests left, I decided to sell my furniture. I looked forward to moving the computer and all of our other scattered office equipment from the television room, and the future room of the possible second child, into its own space. I smiled at the thought of picking out a cherry wood dining room set that had two expandable leaves and would match the china cabinet we got as a wedding gift from Jeff’s elderly aunt. The next day, I put the entire 15-piece furniture set: couch, loveseat, chair, coffee table, two end tables, two table lamps, a floor lamp, a dining room table with four chairs, and a baker’s rack up for sale on Craig’s List.
I sold the set to a young man who works with my friend Monica. She told him about the furniture and the moment the bachelor saw it, he was sold. I can’t blame him, nine years later; it still looks brand new, and is immaculately stylish. He came with a moving van and a friend and took the furniture away last night. I helped them wrap the glass shelves carefully giving them advice on how to transport it with minimal damage all the while feeling a bit melancholy about the whole experience.
For a half hour they moved the set out piece by piece, and I couldn’t shake the weird feeling, until I began telling the young man that this set was my bachelorette furniture. His response hit the nail on the head “so I guess this is the end of an era for you.” That small statement summed up my feelings so concisely. I had been such a hopeful, young woman the day I went with my mother to purchase the furniture. I had my whole life ahead of me, and I was making one of my first purchases as a bonafide grownup. Now as I was selling this set, I was no longer the naïve, young woman with wide-eyes who felt like an imposter in the world of adults. I was an older woman with a family who is still hopeful, but not for just myself. I was trading in my freewheeling, stylish bachelorette furniture for a solid, sophisticated, wood office and dining room set.
As the young man walked out the door with the last of the throw pillows, I wished him well and told him to enjoy the set as much as I did, then I walked around two empty rooms. The former formal living room now office was completely bare, whereas the dining room at least held the china cabinet. I keep the china set we got as a wedding present in that cabinet, along with the antique crystal glassware that Jeff’s grandmother bought when she was first married about 75 years ago. The cabinet contains our Kiddush cup and menorahs, and other precious items that will eventually get passed down to Rachael and her possible sibling.
The selling of my bachelorette furniture to make way for furnishings that would best serve our entire family was such a stark trade off, so paralleling real life. All of the plainly material things, stylish as they are, eventually fall away, and what’s left are those things that survive through the ages. I sold my fabric couch, but I’m left with Grandma Ethel’s crystal. I don’t have my metal and glass end tables, but I do have the Judaica I use every Friday night when I celebrate Shabbos with my little family. I walk around the two empty rooms, a little sad to be letting go of my bachelorette past, but smiling at the thought of many future celebration dinners around my solid, cherry wood dining table, and best of all, I’m still hopeful.
No comments:
Post a Comment