That's the title of a children's book by Patricia Thomas that I don't really recommend. The title is great, though. For weeks now, I have sensed that the elephant was going to sneeze, and there wasn't anything I could do about it. Yes, "Stand back," said The Mama, "I'm going to rearrange!"
The only time I deep-clean and dust is when I rearrange the furniture. It takes a major disturbance in the force to provoke this activity. Like storm clouds in tornado season, I have an inkling that the rearranging disturbance is coming. All I can do is stock up on plywood, duct tape, and bottled water.
Rearranging is usually provoked by emotional and hormonal typhoons. It probably indicates a need to reaclaim control over my psychic tract house. In the most oppressive years of my marriage I would push major home appliances around the basement to vent this barometric crisis. Never mind that I was seven months pregnant. I would still shove the washer and dryer around, then go upstairs to attack the hideous hand-me-down sofa.
I've rearranged the dining area this afternoon, and even dusted the ceiling fan blades. Pictures are rehung. The room is happy, but I have dislocated the cosmic alignment of my bedroom and the living room.
It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that feng [shui]
Doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah, doo-ah
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