The Love Seat

My parents got married in the summer of 1982 in Pullman, WA, and promptly moved to Southern California.  After a year or so they relocated to the Portland area, and in the fall of 1986, bought the house in which they currently live.  After living in Spokane for 7 (!) years, I can almost tell when a house was built in the 70s.  Fortunately for my parents, the 80s were slightly kinder to homeowners and the structure of our house does not immediately give away it's age.  Also fortunately for my parents, my mom has good, timeless taste, and pretty much once we hit the mid-90s, all traces of strange 80s fads were eliminated from our living spaces.

Except the love seat.

The sofa/love seat set my parents bought way back in the day served our family well for the first decade or so of my life.  The couch was big enough to turn into a pretend fishing boat, and the cushions had good fort building potential.  Both parts of the set are boxy without being sharp, cozy without being sloppy, and although the corduroy-ish fabric looks dated now, it's not too terrible.  The couch was one of the first major pieces of furniture I remember my parents replacing.  It's been gone for a long time.  But the love seat got to stick around, and eventually found its way to my parents' bedroom, where it sits at the foot of the bed, facing the door and the tv my mom cleverly hid in an old armoire.

This weekend, I am home for a wedding, but this afternoon found me with nothing on my plate except a half-finished beach read and possibly a nap.  My mom was resting when I got home, but when I stopped by her room to check on her, I remembered the love seat.  I got my book and my phone and snuggled in, and the safety of hundreds of afternoon naps, evening study sessions, and weekend movie marathons sunk into me.  The afternoon sun streamed through the blinds.  Our family dog curled up next to me on the floor for a while, until he couldn't stand it and I had to share the already-too-short-for-my-long-legs space with him.  This is home.  And while I know I can't stay here forever, today I'm resting, literally, in the warmth and safety of my past, trusting that I will find the same in my future.