Old Chair

The old overstuffed chair  was covered in a faded, soft fabric.  By the time it made its way upstairs, the springs were broken and poking up through the seat and an old blanket had been thrown over it  to hide the worn holes in each arm.  It was the kind of chair you see sitting abandoned alongside the road.  Not even worth hauling to the dump.  But because it was the 60’s and my mom was a tightwad frugal, it didn’t get thrown away.  It was given to me because I had been begging for a chair for my bedroom.   My brother already had a chair, also recycled.  He was older by 5 years so he got the first of almost everything.  That’s the way it worked at my house.   His chair was covered in vinyl or some slippery surface which I really didn’t like (and still don’t) and I think had been a recliner at one time.  But it ceased to recline and made its way upstairs to furniture purgatory.

When the old overstuffed chair arrived in my room, I knew not to complain.  It was a chair.  It was what I had begged for.   And we didn’t have the money to furnish the upstairs.   We didn’t have the money to furnish the downstairs, come to think of it.   Frugal.  That’s what we were.

I spent many hours in the chair.   Teenagers tend to retreat to their bedrooms frequently during those hormonal, awkward, years and I was no exception.  Mostly I sat sideways in the chair.  It had wide arms and was comfy to lie on while reading or doing homework.  I even remember lying with my head on the seat and throwing my legs up over the back of the chair while I listened to my record player.  The Beach Boys, The Supremes, and finally The Beatles.

That old chair became a good friend.   While it was not attractive in the least, it was cozy and snug and when things didn’t go the way I wanted them to, I found comfort in that old chair.  Just as easily I jumped up and down on the seat of that chair when things went right.  I threw my clothes on the chair, trying to find just the right outfit for that “first date.”  I picked at the stuffing coming out of the holes in the arms when I was nervous or angry.

I spent hours writing in my journal in that chair.   I sat in the chair and practiced my trumpet, until my brother came over and threatened to cram the horn down my throat.  I cried almost all night sitting in that chair, when some silly boy decided he didn’t care as much about me as I did about him.   I faced the end of the world in that chair (I thought).   I draped my high school graduation robe over that chair and later my college graduation robe,  in great anticipation of was going to happen next in my life.    And finally I sat in that chair the night before my wedding wondering if I was doing the right thing.

I would like to give credit to a new blog I found just today  …aliceandmolly.  Her “about” page triggered the memories I needed to complete this post.  Check out her blog.

http://aliceandmolly.com/about/

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