There's Just Something About a Rockin' Chair

Let me start off by assuring you Im not trying to persuade you to buy a chair from me! You will hear me extol the virtues of what I now consider (after literal years of searching) to be the "perfect" perch, but that is all this is; the saga of a mystery solved and a seat satisfied;)!

I suppose it all began the year we downsized to this little Casita. We brought with us two wing chairs from the Abiso house. One, a red Kittinger chair that had belonged to my father-in-law, and a slightly more demure yellow floral wing of mine. Well, it wasn't long before the two began feeling too much for the smaller space. Hence, the yellow chair went to my daughter, and the search commenced for just the right seat to finish off the space.

*At this point I have to share with you the tongue-in-cheek, and ever-so-appropriate comment my son made while conducting Tom's and my fortieth anniversary vow renewal last year. (It's ok, he's a pastor)! At the point where he was referring to our family gatherings in the living room amidst the couch with all the pillows, he also mentioned, "... and Mom's ever-rotating assortment of chairs." 'Tis true, I must admit! To date there have been at least six others in competition for the title, but none have been keepers, until now.

After the yellow wing chair came the Wimberly trade days find, a blue and white plaid upholstered chair with wooden arms which I promptly chalk painted and embellished with lace and doilies. But... alas, much like Goldilocks, it was just too hard for comfort. Following soon after was the antique barrel chair. It was blue and white striped with petite floral detailing and a feathered cushion. It embraced you like a warm hug, but was much too soft. It went to daughter number two! Arriving on the scene next was the gold velvet French provincial with lovely, carved wood features. Too straight and proper, etc., etc., etc.

Now, lest you think me a total spendthrift, let me assure you these chairs, all of them, were purchased second-hand at a steal of a price. That doesn't excuse my behavior, I know, but, well... moving on.

After another one or two, I found "THE ONE" to end all others, or, so I thought. It was my Eastlake chair... I'm sure of it! So utterly perfect in every way. Right size, delicious upholstery, ultra comfortable. Others thought so too. In fact, after we had hauled it home doing 70 mph in the back of our pickup truck... this $15 unbelievable prize of mine revealed a family of hitch-hikers. Six little mice (yeah... let's call them that) had been hanging on for dear life and decided once all the commotion stopped, to come out to play! Needless to say, that chair did not make it!!!

One final try, and a last ditch attempt I might add, yielded a sweet, little rocking chair. Nothing fancy. Nothing frilly. No upholstery (or hidden critters!). Just plain and simple motion.

I've gotta say, there's just something about a rocking chair. It's easy, unpretentious, honest, if a chair can be. It doesn't pretend to be something it's not. It's welcoming as much as a Southern invitation to "sit a spell" and have a glass of sweet tea.

We now have two rocking chairs in our little living room, and I can't tell you how many people have been here who have gravitated to those chairs. They seem to encourage a slower pace and activities like looking out the window, daydreaming, and praying. The rocker sits at the ready to rest both weary bones and weary souls. It's a good place to think, and... sometimes to procrastinate. It's a superb choice for sitting and sipping a cup of coffee in the morning or a beer in the evening amidst accompanying conversation.

Like an old shoe... or Baby Bear's bed... it's just right!

So, if you're in need of the perfect chair, may I be so bold as to suggest you look no further than the humble rocking chair, you just can't have mine! And by the way... there's got to be a life application in there somewhere, but I'll leave that to you...

to figure out.