BIG DAY
Tomorrow morning Josh and his crew come to take away a large uncomfortable sofa torn to shreds by time and my dogs. They scratch cushions before they lie down, turning in circles to make sure there are no snakes. Ancient instinct. I usually like faded lived in things, but this one has its stuffing coming out and strings of material reaching to the floor. I was planning to prepare tonight for Josh’s arrival to take it away, and to bring me the tidy sofa I bought for 88 dollars at the Habitat store. It is a dark blue with white piping. Rather waspy, but comfy and clean.
It’s almost nine o’clock and there’s not much left of me tonight, so I will have to wake up early to get organized. That will be easy with my dogs. The coffee table has to be moved out of the way, it is covered with a million things I love. Not Josh’s job. My daughter and I will get that done. I wish it were ten o’clock ,as it was a month ago. Ten seems more appropriate for the way I feel; I feel like going to bed.. In a minute I will take the cushions off and stack them somewhere. Nine-thirty. I have a mouse. I hope there is no sign of it under the cushions. Oh good. Three marrow bones, two balls and a lot of etcetera gnawed beyond recognition. One pillow down, one more to go. A lot of gritty schmutz. No sign of the mouse.
Morning now. Josh and his partner got here and within twenty minutes the whole room looks different. Lovely comfy clean sofa, beat up one gone. I am inspired. I moved the shelves holding plants against a different window so I could shove my tree where it could be seen in all its glory. After 22 years it now is ten feet tall and the trunk has actual bark. I have in mind switching two tables so the big white one is next to me, and the smaller wooden one can go between the orange chairs and it’s low enough that the lamp won’t block the paintings. I am full of plans.
But we’re out of smokes and there isn’t any supper and my daughter and I are hungry. The three birthday balloons off the kitchen look like human heads from where I sit, and I am often startled, wondering who is here and how they got in. My eighty-third birthday was weeks ago and the balloons still bob towards the ceiling. Impressive! I leave them be. We go out and buy cheese and orange juice and salad and extra avocados and ice cream. I already have hot fudge sauce.
Coming home for the first time to this very different room, I feel unfamiliar to myself. I’m old, but have never felt like a grown up, whatever that irritating word means. But now I feel as though I should be wearing pearls and stockings and heels and brushed hair. I love the new sofa, but it will take a while for me to adjust.
I bend down to pick up shreds of what must once have been a shoe, but looks now like a bird, ragged wings on either side, and two skinny legs hanging down made of shoelaces. Maybe a crane. Or a stork. I see some new detail every time I look. Above the wings is a piece of cloth that looks like a drooping head. Maybe an angel that died listening to the news. Only a dog could have produced this piece of art out of a shoe. I hang it on the wall next to my chair because I love it, and now I feel like myself again.
Maybe an angel that died listening to the news. What a great sentence, it is a whole story all by itself. like the t shirt says, if things improve with age you are approaching magnificent. which is a few steps up from stellar.
Oh how I love this! Every sentence a treasure, and then there’s the way you put them together. I feel like a dog myself, rolling on my back in ecstasy. Thank you so much.