Thursday, March 18, 2021

The Couch That Came and Went

 


The new couch and I had a quick wedding and an immediate annulment.  The trouble started when the delivery fellows told me they couldn’t take the old couch.  They didn’t know why the sales people at the store told they could.  The best they could do was haul the old couch to the road - heedless of the severe weather that was expected in an hour or two.  I felt like the old couch had entirely too much life left in it for such a fate.  I told them to push it halfway into the kitchen, and we’d figure out what to do with it later.  But I wondered what that would be.  We had already tried to give it away with no success.  How long was the living room going to look like a warehouse with us sidling between couches?


When the movers assessed the situation, they discovered that they’d have to take the front door off its hinges to get the new couch in.  This had not been necessary when the old couch arrived in 2009, but the new couch’s back is slightly higher than the old one. At length the new couch made it’s entrance, having to be lifted up over the stair bannisters.  These movers are young 20-somethings, but still - how do they spend eight hours a day moving big pieces of furniture in and out of houses?


The straw that broke the camel’s back was when the new couch finally made it to the living room, and I was shocked to find that the seat cushions did not have upholstery fabric on the bottom - just some nondescript cheap, brown, muslin-looking stuff.  It wasn’t an outrageously expensive couch, but I thought the price warranted better than that. 


I pointed out to the 20-somethings that this wouldn’t do because the cushions can never be flipped over.  They assured me that the couch had been Scotch-guarded, and I didn’t have to worry about stains.  Poor innocent babes!  They think it’s all about stains!  I pointed out - trying desperately to keep my sweet disposition - that for couch cushions to keep their shape, they must be flipped periodically.  I told them as gently as I knew how that I couldn’t keep the couch, but that I wasn’t going to quibble about having to pay the delivery fee.


They went outside and conferred - and probably did a fair amount of venting about the shrew who lived inside.  I don’t even blame them if they did.  When they came back in, they said I’d have to pay the delivery fee and an extra $15 for taking the door down and putting it back up.  I agreed.  They said I could settle things up later at the furniture store. They lifted the new couch back over the stair bannister, loaded it in the truck, put the old couch back in place, and were probably glad to see the last of me.


I went to the store today and talked to the store owner who we’ve known for years.  He borders on being a saint.  I told him my complaint about the cushions.  He understood, but said putting a cheaper fabric on the bottom of the cushions is pretty standard practice these days unless you pay the price of a small car for a couch.  I told him I’m not quite ready to buy a small car.  He laughed and refunded everything, but the delivery fee.  He refused to let me pay him for the door being taken down.  I’m thinking of giving the 20-somethings a gift card for a meal at a local restaurant.


The only thing that’s wrong with the old red gingham couch is that one of the back cushions has come un-sewed from the back.  I’ve watched a couple of Youtube videos that show how to fix this with a curved needle and some upholstery thread.  I already have curved needles in two or three sizes.  I went to the fabric store today.  There was nothing there called upholstery thread, but they had button & craft thread which looks pretty heavy to me.  The repair attempt will begin as soon as I can get to it. Stay tuned.


The living room seems to have fallen into the quintessential English Country look with the antique side chairs, the old gingham couch, the gold recliner, and the flowered rug - all different patterns, vying for attention.  It’s a look that you either love or hate.  I love it, and since I live here, I guess it will do. 












Monday, December 21, 2020




     I watched a video recently that a Facebook friend sent about what the globalist technocrats have in mind for us. No doubt it's important to stay informed about what is or might be going on in the world, so I listened as this video laid out the dystopian future that may be on the horizon. It was plausible. It was unnerving. My mind had to work hard to keep it from casting a pall over my day. 


     When the video finished, I set about doing the routine housework and the not so routine - decluttering countertops, giving the sink a thorough scrubbing. One good thing about mindless housework is that it leaves your brain free to do a lot of thinking and some decision-making. 


     I've decided to make this the very best Christmas ever, and I hope you will make the same decision. Even if you have to spend the holidays alone, put up some simple, inexpensive decorations. Watch no more than a half hour of news a day, and don't take it too seriously. It's nothing more than what a corrupt news media wants you to believe on any given day. It may or may not be true. 


    A lot of the usual Christmas events are not being held this year. So what. Dress up like you’re going to a concert, put on your sparkly jewels, and watch a concert or a Christmas movie on TV. Make things festive in spite of lockdowns.  Listen to Christmas music. Celebrate western civilization by honoring all the old traditions. Put up a tree if it's nothing more than a twig. Hang a wreath or some green boughs. Light the Advent candles. Observe the twelve days of Christmastide. Put up some outdoor lights even if it's just one string around your front door. 


     If your upbringing didn't supply you with any holiday traditions, adopt the familiar ones.  Explore the history of time honored traditions we all take for granted. Or come up with your own brand-new traditions. All traditions began somewhere with an idea that somebody set in motion.


   Read all the beautiful Old Testament prophecies about the coming of Christ. Read the second chapters of Matthew and Luke that tell of Jesus' birth. Read the chapters in Revelation that tell of Christ's coming kingdom and the restoration of all things. Revel in the story God is telling. Allow yourself to be overwhelmed by His love for you.


     Read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis. The story begins when Narnia is under a curse - it's always winter, and yet Christmas never comes.  This relates to our current situation. The draconian response to Covid is like a spell cast by a wicked witch. But in spite of Narnia's curse, Mr. and Mrs. Beaver have a cozy, cheerful home where they await better times when the wicked witch will no longer be in power. One of the definitions of the word, kingdom, is "an area or sphere in which one holds a preeminent position." Your home is your kingdom. Make it a cozy, welcoming refuge from the benighted world. 


     Remember, dark powers never last. The light always breaks through. A curse is always broken. Christ has already broken the ultimate curse - death. You can be a light in the darkness. If someone is in complete darkness, think of what the sight of a tiny lightning bug would mean to them. If you were stumbling your way through a dark forest, think what the sight of a single candle in a cottage window would mean. Be a light in this dark world. You can do that by being brave enough to speak the truth. You can be a light by remembering and reminding others that what is good and true and right always triumphs in the end.  Make this the best Christmas ever, and be a light all year long. 


 


Friday, September 11, 2020



They say it’s an ill wind that blows no good.  Covid has been a storm.  It has meant death for some people, unemployment and struggling or failed businesses for others.  It has meant the heartbreak of not being able to visit loved ones in hospitals and nursing homes.  It has meant not being able to have a proper funeral when someone dies.  It has meant an unsettling feeling of alienation when you see more masks than faces.  But if the old saying is true, surely there are a few good things that have come out of it.


Here are some good things that I have experienced on a personal level - 


I found out I’m ok with being gray.  I had my hair dyed for so many years, I had no idea what color it was.  I knew it was gray.  You don’t get to be my age without being gray.  But I always wondered how much of my hair is gray?  And what kind of gray?  Is it a dingy yellow gray or snowy white or a steely silver?  It’s leaning toward silver as it grows out, and I’m happy with that.  If beauty shops hadn’t closed, I’d still be having it dyed.  I found out I like my hair longer than it has been.  I got a trim yesterday for the first time since March 5.  My hair was beginning to be unruly and needed what my beautician calls “shaping up.” It’s a good bit longer than it has been in years.  I like it.


When you live out in the countryside like I do, a trip to the big city to shop and run errands is an all-day affair.  In the past I always had lunch at a restaurant.  Now I pack a lunch.  I bought a nifty lunch thing that has three good sized compartments and three little trays.  All of this screws together and makes a tower that slides down in an insulated case.  Yesterday I had salad in the largest container, mandarin oranges in another container, and a protein bar cut in squares in the third container.  I found a spot next to a tree in a parking lot and parked there to eat lunch.  It’s an idiosyncrasy of mine.  If I’m not seated inside at a table to eat, I want to be by a tree. (If you’re a psychologist, and you know what this means, message me.) Since it was 96 degrees outside, I stayed in the car and kept the air-conditioning running. I played some music on Spotify.  All in all, it was a pleasant dining experience.  Restaurants are open now - although not at full capacity - but I think I’ll continue to pack my lunch on most of my big city days.  It’s more economical and probably more healthy.  I know this isn’t good for the restaurants, but it’s good for me.


Since I’ve been at home more than usual the last few months, I decided to endure the chaos that goes with home repair and sprucing-up projects.  I wonder now if some of my past outings weren’t just excuses to get away from home and avoid these projects.  We had some water damage on the dining room ceiling from a leak.  The leak was fixed a few months ago.  Since Covid, we’ve finally had someone repair the sheet rock and repaint the ceiling.  We also had the 1970s gray paneling in our guest room painted a pretty blue called “Icy.”


Months ago I bought a Kalimba - that little hand-held musical instrument - mainly because it’s so cute.  (I know, that’s no reason to buy a musical instrument.)  Since the Covid lockdown, I’ve actually learned to play the little thing.  I’ve played the piano since I was nine years old, and I also play the flute.  The Kalimba is a different animal.  On the piano the pitch gets progressively higher as you move from left to right on the keyboard.  The pitch on a  Kalimba alternates from side to side.  I think it’s good brain exercise to learn how to navigate this side to side instrument.  I’m playing it so much now I decided to order a case for it.  I took it with me on my errand trip yesterday.  When I had to kill time between appointments, I sat in the car and practiced the Kalimba.


These are a few of the positive things that the Covid wind has blown for me.  I’d love to hear some of your positive developments due to the lockdown, so comment below.  


Saturday, August 1, 2020

Grief & Gratitude



Whenever I start having free-floating anxiety, it’s usually because I’m not grateful enough for the good things in my life.  I’m too focused on some personal crisis or problem.  I give myself a pep talk, ask God for forgiveness, and make some time for gratitude.  That’s worked pretty well for most of my life.  But life has significantly changed in this Age of Covid.

Yesterday I masked up and went into the big city to run some errands and do some necessary shopping.  I’m one of those renegades who don’t think masks are necessary.  I think social distancing and a lot of hand washing is sufficient.  But I wear a mask where its required just out of compassion for the poor store clerks whose job it is to be sure everybody is wearing a mask.  They’re just trying to make a living.  I know some anti-maskers defy mask requirements.  I’m not judging them.  In fact, maybe we need a few defiant people to make a statement, but I don’t think that’s my calling.

Shopping used to be pleasurable.  Sometimes, even when I had everything on my list in my shopping buggy, I’d browse around and find something I hadn’t known that I needed - or wanted.  But shopping is not pleasurable anymore.  It’s more like a military mission - a foray. Get in, get what you need, and get out.  

Eating out used to be pleasurable, but masks have ruined that.  Of course, you’re allowed to remove the mask to shovel food in your mouth, but the mask is supposed to be on until the moment your food arrives.  Some restaurants only offer outdoor seating.  That might be pleasant in the Scottish Hebrides, but it’s not too pleasant in southern Louisiana in 95+ degree heat and humidity.  Yesterday I sat in the car and had a cold drink and a protein bar.  It was sufficient, but hardly a “dining experience.”

I’m a little bit introverted.  Even so, I used to enjoy the occasional chat with a stranger in the grocery aisle or the cashier when checking out.  Masks have ruined that, too.  We all seem to talk less.  It’s harder to make yourself heard and understood when you’re wearing a mask.  I never realized how much I used to observe facial expressions when talking to people.  Now it’s sort of like talking to a blank wall.  Someone might speak a greeting, but I can’t tell if they’re happy or sad or grumpy.  It’s like I’m interacting with robots.  I miss seeing people’s faces.  When you’re faced with masks (no pun intended) every time you leave your house, it begins to wear on you.  On some level you start to feel like everybody’s humanity is being sacrificed.  

And I miss church the way it used to be.  My church is open with social distancing and masks, but what kind of fellowship can you have with a mask on?  We Christians need each other more than ever in these trying times.  I think we all understood in the beginning when we were supposed to be “flattening the curve,” but how long is this going to go on?

Add to the Covid business, the state of the nation - cities being burned with impunity by the hateful and the lawless - politicians turning a blind eye to the destruction - millions out of work - the destruction and removal of historical monuments, accompanied by scathing insults to us and our ancestors.  This is cause for grief.

I’ve tried giving myself the usual pep talk.  I’ve prayed about it, and I’ve received some comforting insights.  I’ve suffered losses and so have you.  There’s no point in denying it.  Some people have suffered big losses - the death of a close friend or family member.  Some people have lost their jobs and don’t know if the job will still be there when this is all over.  These losses are in a special category all their own.  The attacks on one’s heritage and culture is yet another category.  But even the small losses - just not being able to live the way you used to - are significant.  I think God is giving me permission to let grief and gratitude coexist right now.  Grief over the continuing, daily losses and immense gratitude for health, enough food to eat, resources to pay the bills, and peace in my neighborhood.

Friday, June 12, 2020


Mental health professionals say that the way to stay sane in the current swirling chaos is to stay off of social media and limit the time you spend watching the news.  I know it’s true, but I’m not having much success in taking their advice.

Like a moth to the flame, I keep going back to Facebook and TV news.  I can’t seem to leave it all alone.  Some might say that I can’t leave the news alone for the same reason people slow down and ogle when they pass a car wreck on the road - morbid curiosity. I’ve considered that, but no - that’s not it.

I remember when my kids were little and one of them got really sick and had a high fever.  I couldn’t leave their bedside.  I’d sit and watch them sleep, closely observing - hoping for some tiny sign of improvement.  

Now my country is sick and has a high fever.  I keep going back to Facebook and the news, hoping for some tiny sign of improvement, but the fever seems to get higher and higher.  If a sick person with a high fever is going to survive, the fever must break.  The temperature must come down.  I have no medical training, but common sense tells me that if a fever keeps getting higher and lasts too long, the patient will die.

And that’s why I keep monitoring Facebook and the news.  Something has to change.  There has to be an improvement.  If there isn’t, our beloved America will die.  And there’s not another place on earth like America.  If you don’t believe me, ask all the immigrants that come here from other countries.

Tuesday, December 31, 2019



I’ve had a love affair with coffee shops for more years than I can count, but we’ve grown apart as lovers sometimes do.  If a coffee shop could talk, it would probably say that I’ve changed, blaming the break-up on me.  Don’t believe it.  It’s the coffee shop that has changed.  It used to be warm and cozy.  Now it’s painted gray and has all the appeal of an industrial warehouse.  It used to have warm, wood tables.  Now it has cold granite.  The temperature feels like subzero whether it’s warm or cold outside.  There’s either no music at all or music that sets my teeth on edge.

I made a last-ditch effort this afternoon to patch up our relationship by visiting the nearest coffee shop.  But it’s no use.  The relationship is over.  I’m now seated at my desk in an upstairs room at home.  It’s in front of a window with a nice view.  I’m in control of the thermostat. Alexa is here, doing my bidding by playing whatever music my heart desires.  The coffee is better here, too, and it’s certainly cheaper.  So - as I say farewell to 2019, I’m saying farewell to my coffee shop love affair, too.  May 2020 bring delightful discoveries to mend my broken heart.  

Sunday, December 29, 2019

         

                     Christmas 2019.  It wasn’t the most stellar of Christmas mornings.  I didn’t get much sleep in room 415 on Christmas Eve at the Hampton. There was a motor running somewhere and I found myself measuring its cycles - running for 7 seconds, off for 10, running 7, off 10, running 7, off ten. It sounded like a clothes dryer on a very short wrinkle-prevent cycle. “If it's not a dryer, what else could it be?” I mused.  “Since we’re on the top floor, maybe it's some piece of equipment on the roof. An air-conditioner maybe?  But A/C compressors don’t usually go off and on so frequently. What could it be?  What could it be?”  All this mental activity is not conducive to good sleep.
          I got up at 6:30 and got dressed. Texted my hubby who was already downstairs getting breakfast and asked him to check with Glorianna at the front desk and see if they have another room available. 
          I went downstairs to get breakfast. Hubby is nowhere in sight. Got a boiled egg and some fruit off the breakfast bar. Ate the fruit, but ended up throwing the egg away because it was impossible - and I do mean impossible - to get the shell peeled off.  
          Texted "Where are you?" to Hubby just before he materialized in the dining room.  Apparently, he had gone up on one elevator while I came down on the other. "Go talk to Glorianna," he tells me, "She's checking on another room."
          Glorianna says the noise is probably the ice machine and there are ice machines on each floor, so it may not do any good to move. Clearly, the ice machine is not the source of the noise. “If it was the ice machine, wouldn't you hear the noise when you're standing by the ice machine?” I asked.  Of course you would, but that's not the case.        We've stayed at this hotel numerous times over the years on floors 1, 2, and 3. The first time we stay on the fourth floor is the first time we encounter this noise. It can’t be the ice machine. Glorianna says if we want to clear our stuff out of room 415 now, she will arrange for us to have a different room this afternoon after the cleaning staff is finished. I say, "Never mind.  This is Christmas Day.  I don't want to spend it moving out of the hotel and back in."  I've always liked Glorianna, but if I discuss this with her any more, I won’t like her.  Sometimes you have to stop talking to people you like if you want to keep liking them. 
           As we are leaving the hotel to go to our daughter’s house, my rubber-soled shoe refuses to slide on the rubber edge of the big rug at the front door, causing me to trip and fall face forward on the floor. Indignity added to frustration.  Hubby has a bum knee and can't get me up. I can't get up by myself because my knees don't bend enough to get my feet up under my body.  A big, husky young fellow in the dining room witnessed my lack of grace and helped me up. God bless him.  On the way to the car, Hubby said something about the importance of picking one's feet up.  So comforting. 
On the bright side, I did not hit my head on anything and didn’t break any bones, so all is well.  But the moral to this story might be:  Stay at home for Christmas.