By SALLIE SATTERTHWAITE
sallies@juno.com

Remember my furniture saga? The agony I went through, shopping, choosing, deciding, finally purchasing a sofa and loveseat for the great room then hating it because it looked too big for the space.

Hadn't mentioned this before, but my chagrin began before the delivery guys were even out the door. One said, "This sure looks nice. No wonder everybody likes it so much. Must be the third set we delivered in Peachtree City just this week."

I told myself they were joking. Please, let them be joking! The validation of friends convinced me it really does look good and now I can hardly remember how the house looked before. It's just right. It's us.

So what's brought me down? A sales flier that one of the big furniture chains put out recently, that's what. There for all the world to see is a picture of my warm and welcoming sofa and loveseat, arranged exactly as I have ours, in a room anyone would be proud of.

Then I read the text under the illustration. Here's what it says, word for word: "From its overstuffed back to its mahogany finish legs, no detail is left unattended to." (So far, so good, if you don't mind using a preposition to end a sentence with.) "'Drama' with its multi-color tweed upholstery, welted seat cushions, tapestry bolster pillows and nailhead trim" (no problem yet), "is the definition" (here it comes!) "of shabby chic."

Shabby chic! What in the world is shabby chic? My home is myself. Me, shabby chic?

I can't stand it!

Was glad to see a recent report that Germany is cracking down on Wal-Mart and its round-the-clock opening. When I visited in March, Rainer took me shopping in a new SuperCenter in Gelsenkirchen. Except for a local bakery dispensing Vollkornbrot and Brêtchen near the automatic doors, and the sensible German practice of letting checkout clerks sit to work, this was an American experience.

Yellow smiley faces superimposed on ROLL BACK were everywhere, clowns twisted balloons into bizarre animal shapes, and bins of marked-down socks clogged the aisles.

I might as well have stayed in Fayetteville, I thought, I who love Germany for its mom and pop stores on every street corner, its walkable inner-city shopping zones.

Sure, those shops close about 6 p.m. (although this old law has been relaxed in recent years) and stay closed on Sunday. But you can accommodate to that schedule, and appreciate the fact that the owners are spending time at home with their families.

Perhaps Germany looked at the U.S., with our vacated center cities, small businesses driven out by relentless underpricing and 24/7 hours, and decided to take a stand.

That's the difference between a socialist state and a capitalist society, Dave says, to which I'd say, "Vive la difference" except that's French and I don't know the German.

Dave and I are more convinced than ever that eating right matters. It's a challenge to try to go even lower-fat than we did before, but our model is Dr. Dean Ornish's plan which, he claims, actually reverses heart disease without surgery.

The goal is to stay under 25 grams of fat a day (the average American consumes 100). Sounds plausible. Only time will tell, of course, and regular blood tests.

What I find odd, however, is this: Dave's angioplasty in May has made him fair game to I don't know how many doctors, and not one not one! has asked him about his diet. They question the usual suspects smoking, blood pressure, family history, weight, stress but not one asks what we eat or suggests avoiding fats.

What a stunning crop of mushrooms we've had since it rained. They're as varied and colorful as flowers, and even more surprising.

They appear in the mornings in places where there was nothing the night before. Look at them! That one looks like a large golf ball, and here's a patch of pancakes. Gold and bronze, shell-shaped or lacy, they brighten the damp, brown corners of the woods and garden. Sort of shabby chic, don't you think?

Someone sent me this recently it's too good to keep to myself. I wish I knew the author.

The Genealogists Psalm

Genealogy is my pastime, I shall not stray.

It maketh me to lie down and examine half-buried tombstones.

It leadeth me into still courthouses;

It restoreth my ancestral knowledge.

It leadeth me in paths of census records and ship's passenger lists for my surname's sake.

Yea, though I walk through the shadows of research libraries and microfilm readers,

I shall fear no discouragement.

For a strong urge is within me;

The curiosity and motivation they comfort me.

It demandeth preparation of storage space for the acquisition of countless documents.

It annointeth my head with burning mid-night oil;

My family group sheets runneth over.

Surely birth, marriage, and death dates shall follow me all the days of my life,

And I shall dwell in the house of a family history seeker forever.

Back to the Top of the PageBack to the Weekend Home Page