Great Balls of Fire...

The smoke billows up from the buildings that are in the midst of a raging fire.

I watch the television helplessly. I know people who live there. Rather, lived there. Nothing I can do can help them or stop the flames from eating up the irreplaceable love letters and photographs.

My mother calls me in a panic, "Can you see the smoke?"

"No, but I can smell it."

I hear the fire engines roar past my neighborhood. They keep coming as the fire grabs a hold of the fourth building.

All I can think of are all the pets that will be lost in this blaze. No owners were hurt, but pets lost.

My eyes tear up as I watch the buildings crumble. Physically so close to my home, yet my loved ones and I are very safe. And so are my friends.

Their lives have just hit a large hurdle.

Again, I am reminded of how lucky I am in this crazy world.

However you may celebrate...

Perfect 10...

My house smells like bacon and cookies.

There's a fire ablaze in the hearth.

Billie Holiday is singing in the background.

The cats are snuggled up to us purring quietly.

And I have you sitting next to me doing crossword puzzles.

Today is a perfect day.

You've got to move it, move it...

I have the "itch."

It tugs on my mind constantly today.

It fills the great void with, and then... and then... and then.

What can I say?

I'm neurotic. Harmless but nuts anyway.

I wonder where this behavior comes from? Is it genetic or conditional?

As I sit and write, my mind still plays with the thoughts of rearranging my house.

If I move the Hope Chest to the other side of the pink thing and then move the chair and table to where the Hope Chest was - that might look nice.

And then turn the bed the other way and then move the high-boy over there and then move the bookcase over - or just switch the bookcase and high-boy - and then move the side table and then turn the carpet - that might look nice.

As my mother will attest, I moved a lot as a kid. I constantly had new rooms to fill up and move around.

It never mattered how large or small my room was, I moved things around on a regular basis.

What makes me laugh today was the realization that when I was very young and unable to move the larger things by myself, I would rope my mother into helping me.

I don't remember ever hearing her complain as she shoved my bed around the room. I just remember her doing it.

When I got older I continued moving things.

My roommates in college seemed to not mind my quirks and let me move things around to my hearts content. I was never questioned and they all seemed to welcome the changes.

Do they look back on that time saying, "I once lived with this girl who moved the furniture around all the time."?

It makes me laugh.

Now I'm eyeballing the Hope Chest and quietly picturing in my head the proposed change.

It's going to be a lot of work.

Maybe I'll just play Sims instead and redesign my house there.

At least I won't pull any muscles.