Summer Days Are Sweet

English: Porch swing at sunset along the Saint...

So far this summer has been good for me.

I’ve had time to think…and not think. Sometimes I need that. I tend to dwell on things, worry about stuff.

It is refreshing to have some time to just relax and not to be chained to a schedule.

Trading in calendars and clocks for a porch swing and hammock.

Enjoying early mornings and slow evenings.

Cooking becomes grilling out.

Meeting new people, making new friends.

Sight seeing and soul searching.

Afternoon thunderstorms and evening lightening bugs.

Mulling over plans.

Wondering what lies ahead, as I sip my sweet tea.

Content.

 

 

 

Moving Furniture And Other Big Stuff

sofa club

Image via Wikipedia

I am a recovering furniture mover. I used to constantly change my furniture set up. I’d get tired of the couch being in front of the window, so I’d move it to the wall. The chair didn’t look good in the corner anymore so I’d set it over next to the end table. It was an illness of which I could find no cure.

My late husband drove a truck. The hours for a truck driver are bizarre…sometimes he would get in, in the middle of the night. I’d be awakened by a bang and a thump and a few mutterings under his breath. Opps. I guess he didn’t see that I moved the recliner over to the other side of the room. He never knew what to expect from me.You’d think he would have learned to flip on the lights to check out the layout of the room before preceding into the house.

The past several years I haven’t had the opportunity to move furniture on a near monthly basis. Before we moved, the old house was stacked with boxes. No space to move anything. Once we moved to the new house and unpacked everything, rearranging furniture seemed a chore. The couch has stayed in the same place for the past year and a half. It makes me nervous. Sigh.I’ve worked more on accessories. Easier to move. Less back strain.

Last night I got a little twitch while looking at my library/office. I’m thinking that I want to move the sofa and desk and scoot a few book shelves around. This could be dangerous. It is driving me nutty. I’m not going to be satisfied until I do something. Anything. I’m becoming desperate.

Why must furniture moving be my addiction? I’m going to end up with a hernia and sore muscles.

Is there such a thing as furniture intervention?