A Tale of Two Chairs

Posted by on Apr 18, 2016 in Blog, Home Is Where The Story Starts |

Back in 2001 I moved into an apartment and quickly realized that some of my furniture just wasn’t going to fit. So, I called my sister and she offered to go along furniture shopping—with her four children.

It became obvious within moments of walking into the store that furniture shopping with four small children has its advantages, the main one being that the sales people leave you completely alone. They see you, avert their eyes, and suddenly find it necessary to go do . . . something . . . somewhere.

So, unbothered by enthusiastic sales people we wandered around and found a lovely couch and a small pink swivel rocker. The rocker was incredible. I could fall asleep in that chair.

A couple of years later, having paid off the couch and chair, I decided I wanted to buy some more pieces. I had a hankering for a huge overstuffed chair in my bedroom. I wanted this so much that I was willing to trade my double bed for a single in order for the chair to fit. I know, it was strange but it was what I wanted. And I was single so I could, and I did.

Remembering the lovely sales-person-free shopping from the previous trip, I called my sister, now with five children, and off we went. What we found was perhaps my favorite piece of furniture ever, a massive blue chair with an equally massive blue ottoman. The denim cover looked tough and the kids loved it!SANYO DIGITAL CAMERA

It almost swallowed me up and I could take the most amazing naps in that chair. When I met my husband we spent many hours on the phone—a lot of those, I was in the blue chair.

So, one of the things I insisted on taking with me when I married was the blue chair and ottoman. I left the rocking chair behind with my parents, with the stipulation that if they ever tired of it, I would take it back, but not the blue chair. No way, no how was I parting with that.

As we’ve moved here and there the blue chair has become a problem. It worked wonderfully in the house in Florida! It was great in our bedroom in Newberry. But, here in Hendersonville? Well, we are downsizing and the chair doesn’t fit that word. At all.

First I crammed it into the bedroom and turned the ottoman sideways and it swallowed up the entire corner of the room. It was tripped over, kicked, and very under appreciated. I would occasionally sit in the chair for a glorious  afternoon of writing. But, more often than not it was neglected.

Finally, I decided to take the ottoman to storage and I made do with a box covered with a pillow instead. It wasn’t the same. The chair lurked in the corner for the past couple of years, pouting—or maybe it was mourning—the separation from its ottoman. I kept hoping maybe we would need it. I dreamed of an office building in our yard in which the chair and ottoman reigned supreme. As the months passed it was a continual battle to keep the chair from becoming a storage spot for everything that was floating around the room. Kind of like having a treadmill in your bedroom . . .

Then, my mom called. “We aren’t going to need the pink rocker when we move, do you want it back?”

“Yes,” I said, without a thought. “Yes, I do.”

I called my nieces—the ones who helped me pick out the blue chair—and I asked, “Do you want the blue chair.”

“Yes,” one of them said. “Yes, I do!”

So last month we drove to South Dakota with the blue chair and the ottoman in the back of the pickup. I got a lump in my throat as we loaded it. I loved that chair. But, it had served its usefulness here. I would bring my pink chair back and we would have a much more pleasant area in our room, one we both could enjoy since there would now be room for a small wooden rocker for my husband as well.


The hand-off was made and the chair was admired by some and stared at by others, stunned into silence by its massiveness. And then, in its place—well, a small part of the space it had occupied—the small pink rocker was loaded into the pickup for the return home.

I thought I would be sad about leaving it there. But, I wasn’t. After all, I was sending it to a home where I knew it would be loved. And maybe, just maybe I can have visitation rights!