I just got a new chair for my desk. It’s rich leather, soft enough for comfort yet sturdy enough to let me know it’s serious about being working furniture. It has arm rests perfectly positioned, and a back high enough to let me slump down for a quick nap but not so comfortably that I dare snooze away my working hours. Oh, and it was on a huge sale. Plus I had a 40% discount coupon. Such a deal!
Of course, it means I have to say goodbye to my trusty 20-year-old desk chair. It’s wheels are shedding pieces of their rubber rollers (big mess!) and the arm rests have holes where my arms have done too much resting. The rich green tapestry has faded into pea green and the print is marred by stains. Oh, and our cat Owen has clawed the right back corner into shreds.
Problem is, that chair has been with me ever since we rebuilt our house after it burned to the ground. I wrote twenty-plus of my thirty-six books resting my elbows on those arm rests. Countless nights Owen’s purring (and scratching) comforted me as I worked long into the night in my effort to meet one deadline or another.
One should never reward years of faithful service with forced retirement. A promotion is far better. My snazzy new leather chair is now working the desk route. But my faithful tapestry chair has a new home in the library among the books it helped create.
“Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you don’t want to lose.”