I follow one of my favorite authors on Facebook, who is currently driving from New York City to Florida to pick up her favorite writing chair for her new apartment in New York. Some of her followers questioned the importance of said chair. Couldn’t she just buy another one, or find one that was similar to it, or maybe find one that was, dare they say, better than this one specific chair?
I thought, “Clearly, they are not writers.” Okay. That sounded kind of elitest. Clearly, they did not partake in an activity that required a lot of sitting, or time pondering thoughts for long lengths of time. Because when I read of this writer’s quest, my first thought was, “Hell, yeah, I’ll drive from New York City to Florida to get my favorite chair!” I don’t know the circumstances of why this chair was in Florida and not in New York already, but I can say with confidence, that my chair would follow me for sure!
Now, my chair is no great shakes to some. Here it is:
It’s thirteen years old. Over the years, it’s been positioned in different rooms and different windows, so it’s discolored. Two Siberian Huskies have likewise tried to make it their own, so there are some stains that just won’t come out. Occasionally, it smells and then I have to shampoo it. Other than the discoloration, the upholstery held up pretty well. There are no holes in the chair and pillows are still decently stuffed. I’ve considered reupholstering it, but that’s kind of pricey. I’ve tried slipcovers, but I can never find one that fits right.
But I will never get rid of it because it is the most comfortable piece of furniture I have ever encountered in my entire life.
When it comes down to it, that chair has seen me through many years and many things. When I was pregnant with my son, I lived in it. It was perfect to lean against one side and elevate my feet on the other. It holds me when I’m sick, along with any animal that has come to keep me company. My son now parks his butt there when he’s sick. It’s seen me through late hours of school work, movie watching and writing. I can be in this chair hours and hours and hours, days, entire weekends, and never have to shift positions. I am always comfortable. My son and I will read there together and we both fit just fine. It’s just a good chair.
So, it’s not the prettiest chair around. It’s showing its age. But it holds up and it’s still here, which is more than I can say for the accompanying couch we had with it. I made the quilt that is hanging over the back of it. Together, they both welcome me whenever I have the time to curl up with them. It’s my chair and my woobie. And I, too, would drive any distance to retrieve it!