Getting comfy…

 I place sentimental attachment on almost everything and often find myself thinking about the meaning behind something more than the actual thing itself.

Quite some time ago the garbage collectors came to pick up the old, worn out couch.  I stood in the window with tears streaming down my face as I watched it crush in the jaws of the sanitation truck… the wood splintering in a million tiny pieces.  A cushion that fell to the ground, tossed back in without a thought of it being anything other than the garbage it had become.

It was a crap couch.

With so much potential.

I remember purchasing it.  A new house designed and built with a bright yellow Great Room where friends and family would gather… the corner fireplace warming the room and the folks within.  The navy, overstuffed couch completed the feel and provided a place where naps were taken, television was watched and babies were fed.

It was perfect.

Before it faded.

The pretty yellow threads in the navy plaid once bright and silky smooth… rot and split within a few years.  The guarantee not so guaranteed.

It’s been months since I hauled the couch from the basement on a rainy Thursday and while memories grabbed at my heart that day… I really don’t miss the couch at all.

It was a crap couch.

I place sentimental attachment on various things with memories shaping who I am.  Some memories I’ll hold onto forever… never releasing from my soul the contentment remembering brings.  It’s like a big old couch you find yourself sinking deep inside…. totally losing yourself in its comfort.

Unlike the one I dragged to the curb that day.

Last week I threw out a dishwasher and a broken gardening pot.  Next, I’m clearing out the storage room, cleaning up the mess and making room.