I’m standing in line at Starbucks, one of my favorite lunch spots, waiting for my Tarragon Chicken sandwich with fruit. I vaguely recall earlier days when I found folks who worshipped the Starbucks god superficial and tiresome. That was before I discovered their no foam, extra hot, non-fat Chai Latte. It’s like a bad relationship. It’s intense, delicious, expensive and not that good for me so I swear off only to come flying back a few weeks later. At least one of my kids would accuse me of selling out and but another one, also under the yoke, would empathize completely.

But I digress. My mind is actually trying to focus on why there is lawn furniture in my family room. Oh yes, I remember. In my weariness of not finding the “right” furniture for that area, and expecting a significant number of folks for the weekend, I had the bright idea of dragging the lawn furniture in from the backyard deck. Seemed to work okay – no complaints from kids or grandkids. ‘Course I don’t actually remember any of them sitting in those chairs either. This morning a neighbor walked in the front door only to burst out laughing while asking if I realized that some jokester had put my yard furniture in the house. Ok, fine. Today I’m back out shopping and just needed a Starbucks fix before tackling both the antique and newer retail furniture universe again. Today I will persevere past those overly helpful salespeople, "reduced-this-one-only-as-is" floor models, and "back-room bargains" to find just the right furniture. God-willing and Houston creeks don't rise, I hope to be dragging yard furniture back outside to the yard tomorrow.