Sofa karma

Unless we are blessed with the gift of special sight, we do not know what tomorrow will bring.

When today was yesterday, I did not know that I would be purchasing an L-shaped sofa based on the telephonic suggestion of a friend who spotted it at half-price during a casual perusal of a catalogue in a café. But that is what I did today.

This is something that we need. The sofa in the apartment belongs to the landlord. It serves as a day-bed for my partner who has Multiple Sclerosis and cannot move around much anymore. Without the throws and covers we have on this two-seater, one could reasonably say that it belongs on the refuse truck. It has done its time with us (three and a half years) and has reached the end of its life. Besides, there is nothing for anyone else to sit on – except a dining room chair and the wheelchair. Just as soon as I got over the next financial hurdle, purchasing a better, longer sofa was one of the things I was going to tackle. Yes, really!

It seems, however, that the sofa could not wait. It burst through my tomorrow bubble into today.

All things being equal (whatever that means), this piece of furniture – conveniently viewed on the Internet during the telephone conversation – will be here next week:

So, you may be thinking, big deal. It is a big deal because I could be considered a strange bird when it comes to things.

I like clean lines, no frills. Approximately three notches down from absolute minimalism, I suppose.

I prefer the intrinsically beautiful form to the merely pretty; I prefer the substantial to the merely decorative. I like to keep things simple, uncluttered. I like the free-flow of air around an object. I like objects to speak for themselves.

I like the architectural principle of form following function. I like things to be practical, used frequently, comfortable.

I like things to breathe – and not interfere with the freedom of my spirit.

I would rather not have a thing if it does not meet these criteria. Truly.

Ornaments fence me in and suffocate. They suck the life out of me; leave me bereft of all but my husk. I made this clear to all and sundry long ago.

We have the occasional ornament in our home. In me-speak, ornaments are referred to as “things on top of things”. In a partnership, this is called compromise. I have learnt to accept these things, and successfully ignore them until they need dusting, at which point I sigh quite a lot but dust dutifully anyway.

In short, I am very fussy about what I accept into my everyday realm. It is essential that my being, and that of my partner, has clear channels through which to flow. It is important that our “us-ness” is not derailed entirely. And this is why it is a big deal.

We are about to alter the form and the function of the space we call home. It is more than the lounge furniture that we will be arranging. Whatever shift we make – whatever change we accept – will have a long-term consequence which we will have to live with and live in.

A cousin visited a few months ago, and left us with a gift of a quilted bedspread. I am relieved and delighted to say that I could not have chosen better myself. I still marvel that she saw precisely what would suit. She has just made positive comments about the anticipated new addition. I shall trust her judgement.

I shall trust the judgement of the friend who flicks through catalogues for no apparent reason; I shall trust our intuition, and go with the flow.

In practical terms: why resist the lure of having a comfortable place to relax at the end of the day?

Allison.