Retooling

Originally Posted Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Another day spent lying about, but finally, a foray out into the world.  A trip to the "health food" store for supplements and lunch.  I thought to do more, but I was exhausted afterwards and drove straight home to climb back into bed.  I slept, woke, read, then got ready for my beauty appointment.  I didn't know if I was up to it.  I'd been thinking much about the furniture I wanted to buy, the pictures I wanted to hang, the things I wanted to get rid of.  Is it wrong, I wondered, to hang your own work in your own house?  I have some really big pieces that would look good in here.  How many am I allowed to hang, I wondered?  I know there are no "real" rules, but there is a bit of modesty that must be observed.  I wish I had more knowledge, too, about hanging works together.  Different sizes, different shapes, different media.  How to hang photographs and paintings in the same room, I puzzled?  Are there courses on this?  Are they online? 

Before my beauty appointment, I decided to stop on the Boulevard and pop into Restoration Hardware.  I didn't think there was a chance in the world they would have the chairs I was looking to buy, but when I walked in the door, there they were--both of them.  I plopped down into the New Parisian Chair.  It was deep. . . perhaps too deep.  My living room is small.  Perhaps two of these would be too much.  Next, the French Camelback Leather Club Chair.  Much smaller.  Comfortable, but not like the other.  One for a visit, the other for a night's reading.  A saleswoman came over to see if I needed help and informed me that the 20% off sale ended that day.  What!?!?!? 

"I can't make up my mind that quickly, I know," I said sadly.

"Well," she whispered conspiratorially, "come in tomorrow and see.  Maybe they will let you have the discount."

I am not good at making decisions.  I was certain that I would not be getting the 20% discount which would save me--what?--like $600.  No, no. . . I had better make up my mind. 

Sitting here this morning, though. . . .  I am embarrassed to tell you any of this.  All of it. 

But it is the season, and I want some changes.  I'm not going to live forever and I can't have most of what I want, so perhaps I should have some of what I can almost afford.  But really, you ask me who asks himself--Restoration Hardware Furniture?  That is the thing you want? 

Nope, not literally, of course.  It is a metaphorical longing of which I am cognizant.  It reminds me of something else.  You can laugh at the facetiousness of it if you want, but allow me to take a gander at the undiagnosed trivialities of your life before you do.  I can make a regular study of them.  Trust me.  I've had lots of practice. 

I left the store on my gimpy knee and crossed the two blocks back to my car hoping that limping around town like this was really good for me as was suggested.  It had been four and a half days since surgery, and without the narcotics, there was pain.  I would be running soon, though, I told myself.  There was nothing I could do wrong. 

It was late when I got to the beauty salon to see my little Russian Jew beautician, and as always, it was going to take awhile.  I had texted her some pictures of a haircut I'd had twelve years ago.  It was much shorter.  "Let's do this," I wrote. "Maybe I will look younger."  This was a joke, of course, a reference to the damage with which the last dozen years had ravaged me. 

When she was finished, half my hair was on the floor.  I had pretty much kept my eyes closed during the cut.  I do mostly, anyway.  It is just difficult to watch myself in mirrors any more.  But when she was finished, I was not dismayed.  Not at the hair, at least.  She had done a nice job.  There I was--a new me!  Yes, I looked quite different, and now, I thought, it was time to make those other changes, too.  I will buy the furniture and the Vespa.  Will they make me happy?  No happier than my haircut.  No happier than falling back upon the old rules of decorum that have somehow gotten lost in my life. No happier than the music I choose to hear.  No happier than anything.  But it will not be this.  It will be something else, and that has always made a difference.  Trust me, I've lived through it before.