Moving furniture...

Today I moved the furniture around - again - for the hundredth time. You see, I get into this mood when I have to do something creative, so it's either painting, drawing or redecorating - not necessarily in that order, of course. I would get up in the morning with this creative urge nagging on my mind, desperate for an outlet. So this time around it was redecorating. Actually I haven't done it for a few months now, and by my standards, that's a long time. Why? Because I have to do it all alone now that I no longer have a maid (but more peace of mind) and the children have left the nest (all too gladly, I'm sure). I've done it on my own before - piece of cake! Only now age is catching up (faster than I like) and moving furniture is not quite the doctor's prescription for moving the joints, is it? Something could simply crack, or worse, become disjointed like the leg of a table when it is moved too much. A daunting possibility, no doubt. Still, it hasn't stopped me. Yet.

Why do I do it, you might ask. Most times, simply for a change really. I like that I can create a new look in the sitting-room, bedroom or dining-room each time I move things around. It might be the same old chair, desk or sofa but with a new twist, or angle, the ambiance changes. And change is always refreshing, isn't it? You don't have to turn the room topsy-turvy every time; you'll be surprised that even minor changes can do the trick. Moreover, familiarity does breed boredom, if not contempt.

If the furniture could talk, they would be saying "Enough! Enough!" Or, "Not again!" As did my children whenever they were roped in to help. While the maid was left with little choice but to humour me, my husband would conveniently escape with the lamest of excuses. But not before cautioning me that I should be mindful of the placement of a table or chair - it might be in the way of his knee! Other than that, he's appreciative of the changes I make - and why not? It cost him nothing, except occasionally the labour of hanging a picture or two. My daughter thinks I have some kind of disorder - a syndrome of sorts - but I think (I hope!) that it's more of a creative streak. Mind you, even when I have other things more pressing to do, I still do it. For that uplifting feeling when I see the end result. Don't you think that's why some women sew, string beads, try new recipes?

Happiness for a Course?

A course on 'Happiness' is being offered at Harvard and in Hamburg, Germany - believe it or not. It was the topic on a foreign TV magazine programme a couple of days ago. Not a gimmick, I tell you, but a serious discourse involving psychology, ethics, philosophy and gymnastics. Seriously, has happiness ever been taken so seriously? According to a source (who appeared dead serious), it was an attempt to resolve our present day woes which are making us "unfulfilled". Simply put, the Course (in no way simplistic) attempts to produce a "reliable, responsible and confident" individual. Which mere education does not?
Baffling thought, really. How does one go about teaching 'happiness' when one can barely define it. Or if one can, is it not subjective? I can't even begin to put 'happiness' in words; it could be one thing now and something else later! Depending on the mood-of-the-moment. The concept of happiness borders on the ethereal, doesn't it? Perhaps, just as well - we could do with something that can offset the cold hard facts that confront us by way of global warming, nuclear threats, terrorism and the like and counterbalance it with something more in the realm of emotional intelligence, can't we? Even if it is for a mere couple of hours a week in the sanctuary of the classroom.

While we lament the soaring fuel and food prices on our home front, I think it is taking its toll on the big companies as well. (No consolation right?). I was at a shopping mall in Ipoh last week and was just milling around a department store when I felt very uncomfortable after about ten minutes. I was beginning to perspire around the neck when all I had been doing was walking around very leisurely. It was the latter part of the afternoon and there was hardly a crowd to speak of. In fact, apart from the sales personnel and the odd shopper or two, the store was almost empty. Then I realised that either the air-conditioning was turned off completely, or it was turned on just so that it was barely detectable. Still, the discomfort was beginning to get to me and I just wanted to get out of there, pronto.
Among other things, I think there are people who go to shopping complexes to escape the outside heat, even momentarily. And while one may have set out simply to browse and look-see, the comfort provided by the air-conditioning could induce one to stay longer. The longer one stays, the more the temptation to spend. Isn't that what the stores hope for after spending millions so we could shop (or window-shop) in relative comfort? Store ambiance and creative displays are one thing; but how long can, and would you stay in a store/shop when perspiration beads start to form? Nothing beats the comfort of an air-conditioned premise; that alone is one of the draws of the shopping mall. Without it, the condition might be akin to the open-air or wet market where you would normally buy whatever you want and dash off. Which was exactly what I did that day. Perhaps it was a cost-saving measure on the part of the store or the complex management, an act of frugality when times are hard. But I think it will turn shoppers away. Worse still, it will be the death of retail therapy (for me, it would!).