Making Room

This weekend, Chris was halfway down the stairs, white knuckles clenched around the hand truck, upon which was balanced our ginormous old television set. He bought it when he was a bachelor, and all that implies. For years I've been begging him to swap it for a smaller, sleeker TV that makes sense in the life we live now. This thing is 50 inches square, four feet deep. It weighs more than the Titanic. 

And it wanted to go down the stairs - really fast. Chris rolled it slightly forward on the step, pausing just before pushing it over the edge, and for a moment it could have gone either way. Either my husband would keep control over the beast, or it would hurl itself to the ground. I couldn't watch, and went back inside. Where the living room was curiously, suddenly, empty. That's what a lot of the house feels like these days. 

But empty is a good thing. Because the random baggage we've both been collecting over the years is now heaped in our dumpster like an archaelogical dig. There's that box full of shiny blue packaging for my failed soap company. The Pier 1 bookcase that's been holding dusty college textbooks for 15 years. The glow in the dark Statue of Liberty nightlight I bought with my college boyfriend. The entire pile is taller than me. But it look so tiny, almost forlorn, all smushed into the back end of the dumpster. I thought the house would feel bigger for the loss of all this stuff. It doesn't. It just feels lighter. 

And now, we get to rebuild. We've started with this late 1800s Chinese cabinet, which we discovered at one of my favorite shops, Dragonfly antiques. It has been so loved over the past 200 years that the corners are rounded. The patina shows wear from the centuries too, although in the sunlight it glows the deep rich red of a fall sunset. It feels safe, permanent. Like home. And you've probably already guessed what it will hold: our new TV.