JOY ALONG THE WAY: TWO CHAIRS TOO MANY

When you have lived with a certain amount of furniture and accessories positioned in the same place for many years, bring in a new piece and all the old things get testy and upset.

I thought I knew exactly where I wanted the new, big, puffy rocker-recliner and so moved a Pennsylvania Dutch painted washstand and two side chairs out of their places so I could put the couch there and the new recliner where the couch was, right across from the TV.

When the delivery men came, they quickly saw that the hastily removed washstand and two out-of-place chairs, clustered in the middle of the room, would have to be moved again before they could do the other moving. They "clustered" them in the dining room, then moved the heavy couch to the place I designated and placed the recliner in the couch-vacated spot. Anyone could see it wouldn't work. The recliner had to be set out a little way from the wall and when I reclined, with footrest on high, I seemed halfway across the room and my elevated reclining feet semi-obliterated the TV picture which I turned on, just to see. Someone was saying "I object," and was answered, "Sustained." Made me and my rearrangement seem on trial.

"It won't do," I told the men, apologetically. So back went the couch to its original spot and the new chair to where the washstand and then couch had been.

"From here, I'm having to look at the TV at an angle," I complained. "Well," the movers suggested, "you can twist the TV around or move the chair over and set it here." They set it "here," and departed before I could change my mind again.

When I came back from the door, seeing them out, I had the illusion of walking downhill. All the heavy furniture was on one side of the room. The couch with its medium sized arms and ordinary height appeared miffed at this huge-armed, high-backed, overpowering thing not over four feet away, and at an angle. Overbearing! I could fancy the couch saying "Whadaya call that thing?" Even Mrs. Raccoon, my favorite furry accessory, was, by this time, lying on her back on the couch, four pleading feet in the air. The clock had stopped as if some grandfather had died. I looked at the ceiling fan. I didn't remember pulling the chain, but it was circulating on high frenzy.

I sat down to rest and turned on the TV only to get one of those crazy laughing commercials. It seemed so appropriate, but unwelcome in my mounting state of sweaty agitation. I snapped it off and proceeded to move the new piece back to where it had been in the second place. It looked so lonesome, all by itself in the center of a three-windowed wall. I went upstairs and, one by one, staggeringly and recklessly, brought down end tables to "book end" the newcomer.

Meanwhile an arrangement of two Cricket rockers beside a round skirted table had been sulking. I reclined in my new recliner and studied their status. Ah, yes, they needed moving southward, away from proximity to the new monstrosity as they must have myopically appraised it. A lamp, upon moving the table, fell over, the extension cord being too short. The lamp shade hit my pine cone, bird-decorated wreath and knocked off seven birds, including a little screech owl which I inadvertently stepped on and crunched to death. Only its eyes remained and they stared up at me accusingly.

Darkness was descending swiftly. I turned toward the kitchen for sustenance, only to bump into the still out-of-place washstand. By this time I was into reckless rev. Quickly a long magazine and book rack found a new place and the washstand took up residence in its vacated spot. Two chairs left over. "I'll think about them tomorrow," I said with waning breath. Tomorrow is always such a wonderful day.

REJOICE!

~Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime columnist for the Southeast Missourian.