Fridays (Friday, August 11, page 4 of 6)


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Instead of heart-wrenching grief, of which I do not feel an iota, I'll document some of the details which fill my days of late. Presently, the design and construction of my prize sofa-nook consumes most of my thoughts and time. It is to be built-in and stretch across the seven foot space where the archway was removed between the living room and the dining room. It will be four feet deep and three feet high, facing the tall living room windows and my beloved view of the bay. Our house . . . my house now, is two miles from the ocean but I'm situated on a hill and the blue of the Atlantic water is clearly visible unless a fog has rolled in to wrap the scene from searching eyes. I've ripped away the heavy drapes that covered our large front window, replacing them with light curtains so the rising sun and night time stars will be my guests.

The upholsterer blanched when I told him to chuck the old sofa, stiff Victorian monster that it was. He said it was worth its weight in gold so I answered, fine, keep it as a bonus. He shook his head too, at my choice of the stuffing for my new creation, saying it was so soft I'd sink from the world and no one would ever find me. I smiled; not so unpleasant a thought, I said to myself and firmly stuck with my choice.

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