Oh, what a weight has been

lifted from my mind!

The worst of it is that it

should matter so much. I like to think I'm secure enough

not to care what people think of how I look or what I

wear or how I furnish my house. Didn't realize how much

it did matter until the day of the birthday party.

You may recall my litany of

things that have to be replaced or upgraded in our

16-year-old house. Everything has just worn out at once.

I have a better understanding of people who build a new

house every ten years or so. But we like ours and don't

want to move. We like the way it looks, we're comfortable

with the stuff in it, and we don't want to change.

The almost invisible

upgrades were the easiest: a new mattress set, the front

screen door, updated faucets, new screens on the porches.

Actually, the decision to buy new furniture and carpeting

was not hard to make - the agony is in the

execution.

Some years ago we acquired

a nice glass and wicker dining table and chairs and, of

course, they made the other large pieces in the room

- a couch, love seat, coffee table (these days

called a cocktail table, never mind that it most often

serves beer and pretzels) - look dowdy and dated.

I'd reupholstered once and couldn't face doing that

again; they'd still look tired and boring.

First step in updating a

house: Review resources - a fancy way of saying,

check the balance in the money market account after the

month's bills have been paid.

Second step: Canvas friends

who've been-there-done-that for suggestions about where

to buy carpet, appliances, furniture. More importantly,

where not to buy.

Third step, especially for

the decorating-challenged: Seek the advice of experts you

can afford. That would also be friends. Lucky for me, a

solid half-dozen of my nearest and dearest have either

built or redecorated within the past few years, and are

certifiable experts. One used to be an interior designer

for John Portman, for heaven's sake.

So, armed with advice, we

began to shop. I'll spare you the details. Just know that

we hit every moderate-priced furniture store on the south

side, plus a couple on the north side, and nothing (that

I could afford) rang my chimes. Learned a lot about what

sells or doesn't sell furniture, however.

Saw a promising-looking ad

in a Sunday paper, ran up to Southlake to check it out,

and was bludgeoned with rap music from the time we walked

in until we fled, literally with hands over ears. The

sales staff had been exceedingly helpful in showing us

furniture, then leaving us to our decision-making, but

when we complained that we couldn't think with that kind

of noise assailing us, they roared with laugher -

but made no move to turn it down.

Our chimes finally rang

when we walked into Hollberg's in Senoia. I spotted a set

in the annex across from the main store, and went back to

the car to fetch Dave to look at it. (Good husband that

he is, he learned early to let me do the coarse screening

before offering his opinion.)

As we walked toward the

back of the building, we both felt our heads snap toward

a previously unnoticed set lying in wait for us near the

front of the store. Darker than I'd had in mind, it

looked substantial and comfortable, and on each piece

were cocked two huge pillows in a tapestry of burgundy,

denim blue, moss green and sand. Neat rows of

upholsterers' tacks provided just the right finishing

touch. We sat. We liked. We pretty much decided.

But no way will I spend

that kind of money without "sleeping" on it

first, so we went home uncommitted. The yardstick

indicated that the new pieces would each be at least a

foot longer than those they were replacing, and I fretted

about that. Our floor space is not large. I couldn't

imagine being more crowded than we already were. But to

cut to the chase: It took one more trip to a large store

we'd already visited ("I've got to be sure,

Dave"), where to my amazement I was riveted by the

very same furniture, priced higher than at Hollberg's.

That did it. Home we came,

called Hollberg's and said, "We want it."

Now to explain about our

house: It's a very open floor plan, appearing much larger

than it is due to a high ceiling and the

"greenhouse" across the back. When the delivery

men brought in that furniture, I was horrified by how

truly huge it appeared. Everything else in the room was

dwarfed - including Dave the first time he sat in

it. He actually looked small, sinking into the depths of

those overstuffed cushions.

Hollberg's had said I could

return it for the price of delivery if I hated it in 48

hours. Dave, however, was out of town when it arrived and

did not return until two days later. By then I hated it.

Next week I'll tell you how I got from "hated

it" to "what a relief"...

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