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3 Ellul 5761 - August 22, 2001 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family
Couched in Deception
by Leah Subar

"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...]

 

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