Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Moving On Up
It's funny how my husband and I are homeowners now -- we moved into what my son calls "our new house-home" yesterday -- and yet my life hasn't changed, excepting the obvious; it hasn't, in other words, magically become more wonderful, beautiful, or thrilling. And I'm a little pissed off by that.
I'm also chagrined to find that the loveseat I was so hoping to leave by the curb has somehow made its way into our new house-home. There's nothing, technically, wrong with this piece of furniture, aside from the fact that it's rather unlovely. It's actually quite comfortable. But it came to us third-hand by way of a bartender friend of my husband's who, along with about forty percent of our old neighborhood in the Bronx, decided to repatriate to Ireland a few years ago, before the economy there collapsed. Something about knowing that this loveseat spent most of its life on McLean Avenue in Yonkers just bothers me, though I can't quite put my finger on it. I just want it gone, but then there would be nowhere to sit in the family room.