By SALLIE SATTHERTHWAITE
sallies@juno.com

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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