"There was no point in keeping the facade. It was time to
consider what was underneath..."
My couches are having an identity crisis.
It began several years ago. Two beautiful, coral-colored,
leather couches were delivered to my doorstep.
The color was what I loved most. Coral is more original than
orange. It is more mature than pink. It is less spontaneous
than yellow but just as fun. Coral has style. Coral has grace.
And it even sounds elegant, too.
The couches were easy to care for. A little drop of orange
juice from a child's cup wiped clean without a trace. A tiny
chocolate smudge left no mark at all.
The crisis began when the birds visited. Living up high with
the windows open, we have our share of visitors from the
winged community. They help clean the crumbs and entertain the
babies. Mostly, they're a nuisance. Occasionally, we have to
clean up after them.
After one harrowing visit, I found the need to clean one tiny
spot on the couch. I took a damp cloth, like I'd done for
juice and chocolate, and wiped gently. After a few trials, I
saw this wasn't working. I responded accordingly. I
scrubbed.
Off came the dirt and with it, some coral. I'd scrubbed too
hard, too deep. I berated myself, though it wasn't my fault.
After that, I became super cautious when cleaning. I'd use
less water and never scrub. If, with the lightest touch, the
dirt refused to come off, I'd leave it alone.
Within half a year, my couches got really dirty. I needed
professional help. I called for an estimate. The man was quick
to arrive, with his clean rag and big bottle of leather
cleaner. I felt ashamed to show him, but surely he'd seen
worse. He didn't say so, but I assumed.
"These are cheap couches," he said. He showed me the test spot
where he'd used leather cleaner. "See how the color rubs off?
Like I said, these are cheap couches."
"You mean, they're not really coral?"
"It's just a load of paint."
He said it would take a lot of work and a lot of money to take
off all the paint. He asked me where I got the couches. He
asked me if they came with a warranty. He asked me whether I
had ever cleaned them. I asked him to leave. I did nothing
about my couches for months.
"Mommy," said my eleven-year-old, examining the couches one
afternoon, "I have a lot of friends coming today... and..."
"I know they're dirty," I said, "but if I clean them, I'll
lose the coral."
She thought for a moment, then looked at me and said, "What
color is underneath?"
"I don't know. Just a pale, dull pink, I guess."
"Is it clean?"
"Maybe," I said, "if we'd clean it, but..."
Pale dull pink is not what I wanted to see each day. Pale,
dull pink is not where I wanted to sit. Pale, dull pink is not
where I wanted to invite my friends to sit.
My daughter didn't understand. Meanwhile, my couches became
filthier and filthier with each new spill, bird visit and
sandstorm. Coral couches? They looked more like spoiled
salmon.
Finally, I'd reached my threshold: I hated my couches. There
was no point in keeping the facade. My daughter was right: It
was time to consider what was underneath.
The problem was that, as the professional had said, this would
be one whopper of a job, and expensive. I decided I'd do it
myself.
I fortified myself with clean rags, leather cleaner and
faith.
Off went gook, muck, dirt and crust. Off went fake color, fake
glimmer, fake style. I watched the paint bleed onto the wet
rag and drip down the couch. I scrubbed and scrubbed.
As the color below was exposed, I found myself surprised.
Hey, I said, that's not bad. I scrubbed some
more. That's not bad at all. That's not dull pink. That's
not pale pink. It's gentle pink with... a touch of coral. I
see coral!
"Unbelievable, Mommy!" my daughter said when she came home
from school. "It's beautiful!"
"You think so?"
"And it's so smart how you left the sides and legs coral like
that."
"Oh, I just didn't get that far."
"But it looks like that's how it's supposed to be. There's a
name for it, I think..."
"You mean two-tone?"
She was right. The coral on the sides and legs were relatively
clean compared to the cushions. Why wash it all off when they
blend so well with gentle pink?
I worked diligently for the next three mornings until I'd
completed both couches. I kept the two-tone style, as my
nouveau decorator suggested. I stood proud and inspired. What
beautiful couches!
Now I welcome friends with pleasure. I clean without fear
(except the sides and legs). I can't say this is my dream
couch. But it's my real couch. I sit comfortably without
shame.
[Readers -- reflect upon this in an Elul mode. About fresh,
clean starts, about blending with what is good and innate. Of
looking at things with different eyes. Take it from there --
and start scrubbing...]
