Elvis on Velvet

It’s been 10+ years since I did the remarriage thing. And I’ll admit it, I’m one of the lucky ones. Hubby Dale lived on a boat. He had nothing (I’m not kidding, nothing) to move into my house that I had decorated precisely to my taste. No recliner. No Elvis-on-Velvet art. Nada. All he asked was 3 feet of closet space. With some pushing and condensing I managed to squeeze out just about that much. And, he has no kids. Blending our lives was pretty simple. But for many couples, remarriage is all about blending. The kids. The finances. The pets. The former in-laws. All of that’s a breeze, however, compared to blending your stuff.

You’ve both got a house full of furniture, art, knickknacks, and–‘fess up–a ton of crap that by any standard belongs in a garage sale at best, more likely in the trash. But it’s your crap, thank you very much, and you’re attached to it: the molded-to-his-backside recliner with cup holder and duct-tape-repaired rip…the tattered-but-beloved bed canopy your great-grandmother crocheted in the previous century…the paint-by-number landscape your grown-up son did as a ten-year old…the ceramic frog collection you started as a kid that now occupies an entire bookcase. It’s no small task to find a place for all that stuff let alone tastefully mix early American milk glass with contemporary chrome ‘n glass.

Remarriage. Yep, it’s a challenge. It’s enough to make one seriously contemplate Katharine Hepburn’s approach. She said, “I often wonder whether men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.” I dunno, Katharine. Sharing the nest with your sweetheart is pretty darned nice. So, think of all that stuff-blending as an opportunity to score points (or what my hubby and I call Frequent Foreplay Miles). If you do, you’ll find yourselves each giving in a little and before you know it, you’ll have your cozy nest just the way it should be, recliner, ceramic frogs and all.