The upholsterers are coming today to take away my couch to make it pretty. And blue.

I’ve prepared the TV room as much as I can. The lamp, naturally, plugs in behind the couch, so I can’t move Dave’s end table, or the lamp, until the guys get here at 1:00. The remotes are stashed, the books shelved, the normal paraphernalia of our lives stowed, safely out of the way. I still need to move stuff out of the entry hall, along the couch’s progress toward the doorway, the temporary exit from my life, while it is beautified.

I’ll try to get action shots of the trip out of the room, down the hall, up the stairs, through the entry, out of the house, and into the truck without getting run over or causing the guys to drop the beast.

Wish me luck.

You know what all this means, don’t you? That’s right. Grandma’s lamp isn’t going to match the sofa any longer. Sort of sad, really. I think I’ll manage to live with it. Somehow.