I mentioned to my brother that I'd like to replace the wallpaper in my bedroom, and my niece Robin -- I love her, but a bit of a kochleffl -- shows up to redecorate my entire condo with the help of friend named Lily Edmonds. (Trust me, it was Leah Edelstein before she changed it.)
Lily is an expert in Feng Shui, having decorated the homes of Cher, Elton John and a Mr. Meatloaf.
As near as I could figure out, Feng Shui is some kind of cockamamie religion where the ghosts of dead Chinese people wander through your house and argue about where to put your coffee table.
If I follow Lily's suggestions, I was told, I will have great success and luck in life. "Listen," I said, "at my age the only success I need is finding my way in the dark to the bathroom."
First thing Lily says is I should paint my front door red for good luck. Every unit in my building has a white door. So all of a sudden I'm running a bordello?
In the living room she liked the placement of my sofa and TV, but such a kvitch she gave at the painting of Mitzi, our Chihuahua, over Sid's leather chair.
"No sad pictures," she scolded.
"What sad?" I said The dog's dressed in a pink tutu with a tiara, and long, full life she lived. But no! Portraits of a single person or pet have to be placed in groups. It's a rule.
In my kitchen, the direction of the stove knobs she didn't like, and by the time we hit the bedroom, I'd had enough. My antique four-poster she didn't like because from the box springs she got "negative energy."
That did it. A lovely bed with a hand-made quilt and Belgian lace that I shared with my Sidney for over 40 years -- may he rest in peace -- is negative energy? Feh! When the Nazis break down your door and drag you to the freight yard and ship you to Treblinka, now that's negative energy. Krich nit arein in di dayner, balma-lucha!
I've said enough already.