My Dear Siestas,
For starters, I have two words for you: Who knew?
WHO KNEW??
As, under the heavy burden of responsibility bequeathed to me, I pen my official findings on this hot button of Christendom, we have barreled past 1000 comments, each vital in unquestionable contribution. Doubtless, our humble community is the frantic talk and frenzied tweet of interior designers all over the world for, clearly, we have uncovered the very underbelly of furniture rearrangement. You just can’t plan a movement like this. It either happens or it doesn’t.
It could very well take months before I, myself, can fully absorb the depths of our spontaneous discovery. The well is deep. Without far greater deliberation, I am forced to offer you the merest bucket from this unbridled spring but it will be replete with meaning for those willing to delve. Multiple readings will help the true student plunge these depths.
And, now, without further ado, my ten top findings:
1. Siestaville is a diverse community comprised of formidable teams of both movers and immovers (the false noun form of the adjective “immovable.”) As Holly pointed out, immovers appear to prefer daytime and movers are undeniably night owls. (As are vampires.)
2. Approximately three people in Siestaville appear to possess the remotest moderation. The rest are confident extremists. (Which explains why a like roll call of Calvinists and Arminians will not be forthcoming.) We are obsessive in both our rearranging and our utter refusal to budge a single bar stool. No wonder I’m your Siesta Mama.
One example:
“My friend Donna came over in 1997 when I added the sunroom to my house. She arranged the wall of white bookshelves with my treasures (books, mostly) and I literally made little pencil marks under everything so that when I dusted I could put it back in the right places.”
There were a few exceptions. Amber was one of my favorites:
“Can I please be both?”
Yes, Darling. Since you asked so nicely, you certainly may.
There were a handful that would fall under the category of what Skubaliscious called “semi-movers” but most admitted that their moderation was in space and budget. Not taste. As Liberty Ruffles waxed with eloquence, “I am a mover stuck in a non-mover’s house.”
While most Siestas had no few words to say about either extreme, Mercy4Drew simply commented:
“Non Mover.”
Impressive. How does she do that??
Some movers rearrange so obsessively that, among those married, many coinciding husbands don’t put down their brief cases after coming in from work until they see their own wives’ faces. They simply never are sure they’ve walked into the right house. And God forbid that they get up during the night and try to navigate their way to the bathroom in the dark. Many have been discovered in various stages of brokenness. Ronda’s husband claims never to begin his descent into a sitting position until he has checked carefully to make sure a chair is still there.
Many movers, Ocean Mommy among them, just happened to mention that they love to rearrange the furniture once a month. I’m just sayin.
Others had no specific pattern. I suppose we might say they are movers with irregularity.
Some immovers are more naïve than unwilling. PraisinYahweh was willing to take us back to the basics by begging the question,
“Moving furniture? Can we do that?”
For others, reluctance to domestic change is not their fault. It’s their phobia. “MadeforHim” says of her and her man:
“Truly we are both scared to death of color. Our walls are all white.”
Speaking of fears, one of my very own trusted sisters described in her insightful comment what I fear – and she pegged – could be me:
“My friend Laura is like you. Gets it like she likes it and leaves it alone. She moved into a new house a few years ago, and when I went to see her I walked in the front door and died laughing. EXACT same floor plan as her old house, just bigger and with one more bedroom. Tickled me to no end.”
Yes, and I’m nearly crying. Is your friend
Dr. Laura, by chance? Does she have some psychological insight into the healthiness of human immutability that the less informed public knows nothing about?
3. Siestas had strong and diverse opinions concerning the optimum matter of whether or not the piece of furniture that sprung such controversy – one might say a movement – is indeed a sofa table as said worship leader claimed. One went so far as to say she was certain that it was not but, alas, she did not know the name of what it actually was. (Some fancy foreign name that kept slipping her tongue.) Another simply stated that the moment the piece was moved away from the sofa, it was no longer a sofa table. Sensible.
As for me, I have no idea. You be the judge:
(I can't wait for Melissa and Amanda, both camera lovers, to see the stunning artistic touches in this selection. It took me a total of two tries to fully capture the scene. Notice how I included a reflection of the fire place in the mirror. If I stay home from work a single day longer, there is no telling what other self-discoveries I will make.)
4. There is some evidence to suggest that anger plays a role among movers. Lori said, “I like to change [around the furniture] when I am really mad.” Another Siesta referenced herself accordingly as “the angry decorator.” Another claimed to only have the urge to paint a room a new exotic color when her husband went hunting. Repression. As you can see, the issue has now broadened considerably in complexity. Is is no longer, “Am I a mover?” but “Why?”
5. This public admission earned the right to be a point all by itself: “Just me-bobbie jo” not only rearranges her own furniture. She arranges other peoples’ furniture in her mind. Watch her carefully if she comes to your house. Invite her on purpose or not at all. Never let her slip through the door with a friend. If you’re as unsure as I am about what she looks like, card every visitor to your home that you don’t recognize.
6. Many Siestas reacted to their own blog Mama’s claim to never have moved a stick of furniture in 31 years with nothing less than shock and awe. Indeed, they’d thought better of me. I couldn’t have astonished them more if I’d confessed to chicken skinning on the side for extra cash. Does it help to know that I rearrange old outfits all the time to make them look new and sometimes I’m so proud of myself, I clap my own hands? (As opposed to clapping someone else’s. You’ve clearly nearly pushed me over the edge.) Does it also help to know that, while I somehow lack adequate concern about the ever-changing interior of my home, I am obsessed with my yard and oversee the changing of flowers multiple times a year?
I would nearly have despaired over having so drastically lowered Siesta expectations had I not seen Jennyhope’s comment like a beacon of light in the darkness. A mirage in the Siesta Sahara. She admitted to my own inclination but then prided herself in having added several “extra leafs” to her dining table recently, and, with great relief, believed it to qualify on the blog post as a rearrangement. My favorite part was that she voiced uncertainty over whether or not it was even spelled “l-e-a-f” (like the kind on a tree). And, as I live and breathe, I do not know either. However, that small unsettled issue does nothing to dampen my exhilaration as one who ALSO added a leaf to her dining table recently, if only for the Thanksgiving meal. Thank you, Jennyhope. We can hold our heads up high. At the very least we are seasonal movers. Sniff.
7. Military wives and pastors wives are movers but not by choice. They are movers by trade. Sister3 writes,
“Are you kidding me? I'm married to a United Methodist minister! Not only do I rearrange furniture, I exchange houses with another minister's family every 4 - 5 years!”
We better write our pastors’ wives a thank you note this minute. And, while we’re at it, our military wives, too. Many of them rearrange a new dwelling every year. Yep. That was my mama, the Major Dad’s wife of 55 years. Maybe that’s my problem.
8. Wives are not the only movers in a marriage. One brave brother (identified as randommumblings) added depth and texture to our landscape by characterizing himself as the mover in his family rather than his bride. After only three short years of marriage, his wife “FORBID” (his word, not mine, and in all caps) him bringing home any more “discoveries” for their budding décor.
9. Some compulsive movers admit that they might have the slightest obsession but that it’s all relative.
Bekah writes, “I not only change furniture with a fervency, but I change ROOM purposes any old chance I get. I have a three bedroom house that I will have lived in ten years come this summer, and by that time, each room will have served as master bedroom, guest bedroom, and office at some point in that time span. It's a blessed good thing my kitchen and bathrooms won't uproot without significant expense. It's probably a sickness, but I figure there are worse ones I could have.”
Yes, I know for a fact that there are. Still, I may move a twin bed into the den tonight. I wasn’t the least tempted to be a mover until you turned it into a psychological disorder. Then, true to form, I began to manifest it.
10. One Siesta was under particular inspiration when she unknowingly summed up my considerable intellectual contributions to the blog world with this:
“I just love that you talk about everyday stupid stuff.”
I have never loved y’all more.
