DIY Part 2: A Brush With The Supernatural?

I finally found furniture I thought might work. I'd wanted black furniture but wasn't about to pay the $2,000 to get what I wanted (not to mention bearing the responsibility of the stroke my husband would have if I'd done so). I settled on a simple white bedroom set. (Settled might be a bit of an overstatement.)

Basically, my furniture purchase went something like this:

My mom: I like it. I think Sophie will like it.

Me: I'm not comfortable spending the money.

My mom: Its good-quality. I don't think you'll find it cheaper anywhere else.

Me: I know. I just don't think I can do it.

My mom: Meredith! She's outgrowing her bed. You're running out of time, here. This set is a bargain.

Me: I need to think about it. I can't rush into anything.

My mom: (sighs, rolls eyes): Fine. Lets look around some more.

Thirty minutes later...

Sales lady: "Can I help you with something?"

Me: I don't know.

My mom: YES. The white set in the corner.

Sales lady: Oh, good choice.

Me: If I bought all six pieces, what would my total be with tax?

Saleslady: (punches number into her calculator) That will be $4 Trillion and 75 cents. (Not really but it's equivalent to what I actually heard.)

Me: Can't do it.

Saleslady: I'll throw in a free temperpedic mattress and foundation.

Me: Nope.

My mom: For God's sake, make a decision!!!!

Saleslady: Let me go make sure we have everything in stock. (Makes a quick exit.)

Me: I really do like the way the store decorated this area. Kind of retro.

My mom: Yeah.

Me: I wonder if they'd sell that movie poster over the bed.

My mom: How funny. I hadn't noticed that.

Me: The poster?

My mom: Yeah, Endless Summer was your dad's favorite movie.

I had a vague recollection of this, but my dad's been gone for nearly thirty years, and I'd forgotten until she reminded me. Odd. Twenty other bedroom collections in the place and I chose the one with Endless Summer prominently displayed over the bed.

Me: I love this furniture. I just don't think it would be prudent to drop so much money.

My mom: If you want cheaper you'll have to buy pieces made of pressed wood. It will fall apart before she hits junior high and you'll be right back where you started.

Me: True, I just don't know.

(Funky folk song began playing on the store's sound system. I recognized it. Haven't heard it in years but I totally remembered it.)

My mom: Haven't heard this song in a while. (she starts to hum along.)

Me: We used to sing this when I was little. Me and dad.

My mom: He loved this song. It was one of his favorites.

Okay, I'm not superstitious, but lets face it. I was standing in a furniture store that had been piping in top 40 hits from the current decade for the full hour I'd been there. The overriding decor throughout the store had fluctuated between elegant and homey. Yet, there I stood, listening to a forty year old folk song and staring at the retro poster over the only bed I actually liked. What were the chances? Maybe my dad was trying to tell me something. Maybe I'm a freak. In either case, I wasn't about to ignore a potential sign from beyond the grave.

The saleslady returned.

Saleslady: All the pieces are in stock. I also confirmed that I'm able to throw in those mattresses if you'd like them.

Me: I'll take it. All of it. Where do I sign? (In my head: Point taken, dad. your grandkid is getting the furniture. You're kind of freakin' me out here, though.)

Someday, I'll tell Sophie about the time her dead grandfather picked out her 10th birthday present. She'll think I'm nuts. That's okay, though. My dad tends to make his presence known every once in a while and I'm not the only one who's noticed. Then again, even in life, he was no shrinking violet, so this whole thing shouldn't be a surprise.

And the DIY adventure continued....