Ah, the joys of remodeling. It was supposed to be a simple job. “It should take only a day to install them,” the contractor assured me when I ordered my new laminated flooring. In a perfect world, perhaps, but then my world has never been perfect! They started on a Monday and finished on Saturday. (And no, it was not a full 8 hours each day although it seemed that way to me.) Between ripping up the old carpet, cleaning the cement, sanding, sawing, vacuuming, hours after hours of the smoke alarms screaming at the top of their decibels, the sounds of continuous hammering along with nail guns shoot-outs, to say it was an ordeal for my five senses is putting it mildly.

End results? I hated my new floors. They were too dark, too rich-looking. They made the tile floors I’d been so proud of before now look drab and dull. And I was left with having to move everything back that I’d moved out—only after I cleaned off the inches of white dust frosting. I felt overwhelmed, exhausted, and depressed, my life seemingly in chaos and my decorating taste questionable.

That was last week. With major help from dear friends, adequate rest and food, I love my new floors now. I’ve rearranged furniture, electing not to move everything back which in turn, makes me feel freer, less stressed. My walls aren’t closing in so much. I hadn’t realized how confining my world had become. Even my rescue pups had been too confined, their world being their crates and the front of the house. With the new floors, I’ve given them the freedom to roam the halls and explore my bedroom in the daylight with only the two spare bedrooms with carpeting off limits. Whenever I’m home, that is.

Who knew that getting new floors could move walls or give me and the pups a “get out of jail free card”? Too often I think I need to make major changes – get a face lift or change jobs or move – when in reality it’s the little changes that count. Hindsight, I’ve been making them already. I had my hair highlighted, cleaned out my closet, and even signed on an online dating service recently (for blogging research only, of course). And yes, I had my first date in thirty years this past week. (Probably won’t do that again anytime soon! Lol)

So what’s next? I turn 65 this summer. Up to now, I’ve been guilty of thinking like a teenager-- that becoming 65 will mean that I will really be old. But I’m also smart enough to know—only if I let it. So I guess I better get busy and get rid of some more clutter, both physical and mental, so that I can move more walls.