Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

The morning found me puttering around the living room, moving an easy chair to make way for the annual Christmas tree, and pushing the couch this way and that. It probably doesn’t have the status of ‘hobby,’ but I enjoy changing furniture around. I’ve enjoyed it since the first time I had my own bedroom and control over where the bed and desk were placed. That was sixth grade; and by the time we moved from that apartment, I’d discovered fifteen, may twenty, ways to rearrange my room. My friend Carol recalls this as one of my claims to fame.

Over the years I’ve continued this activity with zest. It’s about connecting with one’s things, possibly recalling where each item came from. For instance to move the cocktail table requires taking it apart after removing the items on its top. Then, when the table is repositioned, I replace the items while remembering that the drum came from our Alaskan trip, the Remington calendar came from my aunt and uncle, and the book on the art of Charles Russell was a gift to Earl from me. Each holds a fond memory.

Earl shakes his head when I start rearranging things. He claims it makes him afraid to get up at night for a glass of water because he and the cocktail table might meet head on. But I persist. If we can achieve a new look by rearranging rather than buying new, just think of the money I’ve saved.