Chairs

For all of my married life, I've pictured my home as being a comforting, welcoming place with deep furniture in warm colors, interesting art around, lots of books --everything a little bit untidy but not all over the place messy...the kettle on...the music underneath.

I married a man who's a worker and who values salvaging materials that might otherwise end up in a landfill. I like that; truly I do, but I've had to draw the line from time to time. Occasionally a new construction project yielded furniture, mainly chairs, that found their way into our home. Some of these have been good, mostly timely acquisitions that seemed to follow a certain yearning I expressed for new furniture. One time, I arrived home to find four of the most hideous orange fabric, silver tube-type chairs in my downstairs area. To make matters worse, they had coffee and other not-to-be-removed-in-this-lifetime stains. No way were they getting any further into my home! Out to the curb they went and within a very short time, some college kids snapped them up. THAT was a close call!

So now that we're paring down our possessions in our Great Downward Mobility trend, we are down to four wooden chairs at our dining room table -- two match, two are antiques from a grandparent's home many years ago. We have a "found" upholstered office chair on rollers, very comfy (unfortunately, it's orange!). We/I acquired a wing back chair (NOW we're talking!) from a local thrift shop last spring as a must-have piece of furniture for our newly renovated office. And I foolishly picked up at a school PTA rummage sale a falling-apart cube type chair with scratchy beige furniture just because we needed a chair in a particular spot in the living room for "staging" our home for re-sale. One entire side of the chair has come apart but fortunately my handy husband was able to fix it with some long sheetrock screws(dare I tell him it's going on the curb as soon as we sell the place?). And our final chair was a gift from my father who had to buy it so he could be comfortable in my home when he visits during the summer months. It's a recliner of okay fabric...very comfy and a favorite snoozing spot.

So that's it for chairs unless you count our two folding camp chairs which we drag out when we have more than 3 people downstairs watching a movie. We're trying to make it work...my husband would say "It's fine, honey!" but I'm still yearning for that deep, comfy furniture that you sink into with a book in your hand. Last night we had a dinner party and yes, we had to go and borrow a few dining room chairs. Maybe when we're settled in our next home we can scrap some of the ones we have and get that leather sofa and wing backs and ottomans I've been dreaming of for 35 years. I'll let you know so you can c'mon over.

Morning Hours

Too early, too soon after hard-to-fall-asleep hours and then a deep, exhausted plunge filled with interesting/odd plot trails...interrupted - what's going on?...pitch black outside my window.

Morning moments of a voice too loud with too many words: "Want some eggs this morning, honey? How about some eggs?" Loving insistence on starting the day together; sleepy cheek pressed against his flannel shirt; coffee fumes wafting from the mug on the bedside table; I prop myself up and focus on the steadily growing grey light outside my window.

Never thought of myself as a grumpy-not-to-be-awakened type person but more like, "I'm owed a better quality sleep so let me get it even it if takes me more hours than you" kind of person. But honestly, often times those "extra" hours don't yield better quality sleep at all but almost-awake, weird dreams that many times create a strong sensation of needing to open my eyes but finding, in my horrible dream that I cannot. Might as well wake up early after all to see the grey, November drizzle outside my window.