The Wrong Feng Shui...

I think Feng Shui is garbage.

Oh, don't get me wrong or send me books, links or pamphlets explaining otherwise, and how the placement of my couch can fix the heart murmur of some unsuspecting guy in Boise. In fact, that tripe is precisely why I think Feng Shui is garbage.

People "rediscover" some Eastern tradition or belief (it galls me that often nobody, and I mean nobody, has heard of these ancient traditions, not even monks) and then some idiot, some chowder-head whose grandparents were Asian and whose only bequeathal from all that Asian tradition was an epicanthic fold, decides to declare himself an expert on said tradition by writing a book -- which promptly sells like hotcakes to the American public, a people generally capable of being brainwashed with a damp cloth.

It doesn't take a genius to realize that the placement of items in our home adds to or takes away from a sort of "flow", that things need to be placed for maximum comfort, convenience and a certain untouchable quality which turns a mere house into a HOME. I just don't think I have to face East or burn incense for that quality to begin to appear. If that's your thing I say go for broke; it's simply not my thing.

However, lately my 19-month-old son has begun explaining to me by way of demonstration how my placement of articles in our home has been, for lack of a better word, WRONG.

For example:

I was unaware until recently that the flow of cosmic energy in my home was being interrupted by misplacement of the remote controls for our television system, nor was I aware that said remotes actually belong in the following places:

- The main remote belongs beneath our couch
- The dvd remote belongs in my son's toy chest
- And the television remote belongs in the rear of a tiny cubicle in our wine rack.

I was unaware of the role metals play in the induction of celestial harmonies within a house, and thus unaware that several of our metal mixing bowls from the kitchen cabinets actually belong in our office AND in two separate bookshelves, while the books which formerly occupied the space now reserved for varied mixing bowls belong, neatly stacked, on one side of the couch AND inside yet another mixing bowl -- this one stoneware.

It had entirely escaped me that Sock Monkey, meant for a weird sort of hugging toy (it gives me the creeps), was actually a perfect dog toy. Let's not even mention my boy's glee in removing the squeak-bone from the dog's mouth and carrying it around in his own.

Meanwhile Oggy the dinosaur, with whom my son sleeps nightly, roams from box to bowl, from bowl to cabinet, from cabinet to office, from there to alternate box; making his tiny, plush dinosaur rounds to assure domestic tranquility and completeness in the glory which is Feng Shui.

There is absolutely NO telling where this little guy will turn up next as he works diligently to align our household energies with the Jade Emperor's master scheme.

Plastic gears belong in my work boots. I have learned this by removing said gears, placing them back among my son's toys only to have them invariably, determinedly even, reappear in my boots.

Any accompanying socks, however, belong elsewhere. One is often found stuffed inside a different dinosaur, a saurian with holes for plastic orbs, a dinosaur filled with lights and music; the other sock frequently resides around my son's neck like a bizarre scarf -- at least until he finally brings both socks to me and insists I put them ON him, whereupon he wears them for a while and then returns to me without them.

At this point I know the little rascal-cum-interior designer has completed another round of Feng Shui and I'll be amazed at where my socks turn up. Given an entire drawer of them, the possibilities are endless. In the meantime it is my privilege to enjoy spiritual bliss based on my child's efforts.

My shirts are steadily disappearing. I've yet to fathom precisely how this fits the ongoing development of our spiritual schematic.

My son also possesses a series of blocks fitted to various holes in yet another toy; these blocks, however, appear to belong in or near his toybox -- with the exception of one blue cube which apparently completes a celestial pattern or flow when it resides precisely in the center of our living room floor.

He could be right; in fact it's gotten so when I walk into the room, if I don't step on the blue cube or nearly stumble on the thing, I actually wonder where it's gotten off to. In a crazy way it's come to complete my vision of the sitting area. A few days ago it wasn't even present and I still stepped over the spot, lifting my leg to avoid stumbling on... well, on nothing.

Each evening after putting the lad to bed we go around cleaning up articles over which we might stumble in the night, or upon which we could step and create clatter, ruckus as it were; and each day Luke dutifully returns items to their areas in one manner or another, although he appears to be experimenting with the flow of Ch'i in our home, as exhibited by his delight over the recent addition of our Christmas Tree.

While we carefully placed ornaments at the higher levels of the tree, Luke dutifully brought the boxes in which individual ornaments were kept and placed the boxes among the branches down at his level.

If not for the fire hazard, I'd have left them. After all, apparently the kid knows what he's about.

Who am I to argue?