Why, you ask? Because we bought a sofa.
First off, I have to confess (and my wife would agree) that I make everything into an ordeal. You want a sofa? You buy a sofa! Right? Wrong.
I'm somewhat obsessed with healthy living environments. Petroleum-based fibers and cushions full of flame retardants are, sadly, the norm in the modern realm of furniture. I'm convinced that someday we'll be able to trace some health issues (cancers? allergies? etc.) to our frequent contact with manmade, under-understood chemicals.
I feel like we won the bed battle. I was convinced to do the same for a sofa. Unfortunately, the challenge was formidable. DIY upholstered furniture isn't so easy. And if you've ever looked for sofas sourced with local hardwoods, natural fibers, and cushioning that you wouldn't risk death if you licked, you'd know that you're either looking at $4000+ or trusting one of a few online vendors of questionable reputation.
While a few more mainstream furniture manufacturers mention sustainability, health, or the environment, I've found the majority to be greenwashing. Crate & Barrel, for example, had some lofty statements about soy-based foam and a few other details, but when I checked out labels at the store they seemed no different than anyone else.
Fast-forward about a month and we still hadn't figured out our strategy. Actually, I sort of landed on this: we'd buy secondhand furniture off Craigslist and then pay to get it reupholstered with materials of our choosing. Even if we paid $200 for the piece and spent upwards of $1000 on the refinishing, we'd be well ahead of some of the "green" options. Alas, we're (a) choosy, and (b) no longer live in a major urban area full of secondhand options. It was clear that this strategy would take considerable patience. I possess various virtues; extreme patience isn't one of them.
One day after work (last week), I popped into our local somewhat-higher-end furniture shop on my way home. They had an uber-comfy comfy couch that I'd eyed a couple months back. It was spectacularly orange, and on closeout. Unfortunately, despite these obvious merits it was conventionally built (i.e., it didn't meet our criteria). But f%^k it. We bought it. Having high standards is laborious. We lowered them (this time) in the interest of having a place to sit before 2018.
Done deal, right? Never.
I recruited a friendly neighbor to help me move it in. It didn't fit. Our 19th century house simply didn't have the front doorway to accommodate it. Even had we got it in by removing the header above the door, the upright length of the couch matched the ceiling height, meaning that there'd be no way to tip it down. Our ancient double-hung windows weren't an option.
A day and a lot of head-scratching later, I worked out that if we came in the back porch, angled through the back (kitchen door), tipped down (higher ceiling in this 20th century addition) and lifted the couch above the kitchen island, and shaved 3" off the width of the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, it just might work.
It did. The photos above were what was required to make it happen.
Sure, I could have returned the couch. But that just wouldn't have sit well. This is better:
Seeing that I rented a van for the couch, I multitasked and moved 4000 lbs of concrete while I was at it. And voila, the back drive looks a bit less redneck-y. Sayonara.
