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By Elizabeth Austin
Ms. Austin is a writer working on a memoir about being a bad cancer mom.
When my family moved apartments a few summers ago, the first thing I did was call a junk removal company to haul away our cheaply upholstered black love seat. In our new place, the sun hits the hardwood floor in honeyed beams so rich, we could sip them from a spoon. Windows look out from every wall, their deep sills crowded with plants. This space deserved a carved mango wood coffee table just kissing the woven area rug and throw blankets draped just so across a custom linen sofa. The old bargain couch had to go.
Replacing it was the hard part.
