So, time arrived for replacing the living room furniture. Grandpa and I had our same sofa, loveseat, extra chair, tables, and lamps from our thirty-five years of marriage. Still leaning toward denial, we agreed blue remains our favorite color, not one person has fallen all the way to the floor in our chair yet, and parts of the lampshades still block the view of the bare GE 100 watt lightbulbs. Besides, right before the delivery men appeared at my fingerprint-smudged storm door with newly purchased pieces, I had a moment to examine our old stuff and found unexpected reminders of times gone by such as marbles, crayons, Barbie arms, Chapstick tops, and chewing gum wrappers.
After I turned one of the seat cushions on the loveseat over, I discovered a dim outline of our daughters first post-potty training accident. Of course, under that same cushion, as well as the others, I collected treasures I thought were forever gone. The first to catch my eye was the yellow edge peeping out from the upholstery of grandbabys last pacifier. How well I remembered searching house, yard, and car for that life-giving piece of equipment.
In fact, I can still imagine Grandpa heaves and...