Two of our adult kids let us know that the living room couches make them sneeze. They were polite about it, but expressed their reticence to even sit there. I too am prone to asthma, but apparently my body has given up any rebellion for what seems inevitable. Hence I can, or at least do, spend time there every day. 

But I want my family to be comfortable in our home, so I am committed to replacing the furniture. The set in question was second hand when we got it ten years ago, and has endured plenty of abuse. Who knows how many colonies of dust mites have hunkered into the crevices between cushions? It is anyone's guess what unpleasant spills have soaked into the cloth.

The ragged green carpet went the way of the garbage a few years ago, which hopefully has alleviated the problem somewhat. Now the couches and chairs have to go too.  

It is on my list to head out to IKEA  in search of something more wipeable than plaid upholstery cloth. Since there are no color schemes at play in our house, fitting in will be easy. But there is a bit of resistance to such a large purchase, so I decided to give myself a nudge. 

Last night I lugged one of the wingback chairs to the trash. 

The living room already feels less stuffy. It's funny how your brain readjusts to empty space. On Monday the second chair will find itself by the road, and next Thursday, the guilty couch. I have no desire to overwhelm the trash truck. By the time there is nowhere to sit, I figure I will be motivated to head to the store. 

When I read an article about compassion, it inspires me to bring those qualities into my family. Yes, I need to listen better. Of course it is crucial to laugh together. Still I notice that the best practice for inviting those attributes is to get rid of their antitheses. Haul the sarcasm to the street. Curb the interruptions. Ditch the criticism. 

In the unoccupied expanse that extraction creates, good things pour in.