The Chair In Here ...
I spend a lot of time on my loveseat. It's where I write. If I'm clacking away on my laptop, it's a rather sure bet that this is where I'm sitting.
I am, as you might expect, rather familiar, then, with the view.
Across from me sits my comfy chair. It is not the chair I had wanted for the longest time. The coveted chair was from Crate & Barrel, oversized yet classic, and upholstered in leather. Forest green. I loved that chair. I would go to Crate & Barrel on Michigan Avenue to visit it. The staff would move it around and between the two floors of furniture. And I would worry for a brief moment when I would arrive for a visit and not find it, but I'd wander and there it'd be, my chair.
And then, one day, it was gone.
I was crestfallen. Really. Looking back, I'm very glad that I didn't buy an oversized green leather chair, but at the time, it embodied all that I believed was my taste. It was my taste at the time. But it was gone.
I was sure I would never find another chair I loved as much, as completely.
But I had no other choice.
One day, my mom and I went to Marshall Field's on State Street. We wandered about the furniture floor. Nothing appealed. The Field's building on State Street (it will always be Field's to me, never Macy's – never) covers an entire city block. But I was seeing nothing I loved. Discouraged, I walked through an opening into another vignette, turned to my left, and there it was.
My new chair. Tucked into the corner such that I could have easily walked right by it, focused on whatever was in my view. But I had turned. And it was there. And I knew.
Mom smiled at me. She knew, too.
It was a Beth chair, through and through. Floral, but not expected, not the rose pattern that would soon cover every surface of every home as country invaded decors with a vengeance, as everyone adopted the notion that shabby was chic. No, this floral was different. And the chair was oversized, welcoming. And filled with down.
I sank into it. A salesman came by to take care of business. I plunked down my credit card, arranged for delivery, and left, thrilled.
And it was delivered and unwrapped and inspected and made itself right at home in my latest living room. And friends would visit and everyone would want to sit in the chair. And I would let them.
When I moved from that apartment into this home, I configured this room almost exactly as I had configured that space. Based on the location of windows and doors and the need for flow, this arrangement just makes the most sense.
And so when I look up from my loveseat, I see my chair. I see it every day.
But this morning, as I was sipping coffee and surfing, I happened to look up at my chair and it suddenly seemed so enormous. It is big. It is admittedly big. There is no way to mistake it for small. But today, it seemed disproportionately big.
The fact that the ottoman matches the chair has been bugging me for some time. It's too much, paired with the chair, too much floral. So I've been thinking about slipcovering it, but in light of this morning's revelation, I'm wondering if it's just time to bid my chair farewell.
I thought about moving the furniture in the room. Yesterday, Angelo ended his blog post (about cake) thusly:
"Have a fantastic weekend.
Be creative. Do something fun. Move some furniture.
Have some cake!"
So today, I thought about moving furniture, and then thought, "There's no other way to arrange this room." And then I thought that Angelo would say, "Yes, there is." To which I would say, "No, there's not."
And then I had an idea.
(Apparently, one of the ways to tap into my creativity is to bicker with Angelo in my head.)
I haven't yet begun to move the furniture around. Because once I do, that will unleash a chain of events I'm not yet prepared to complete. But the idea has been had. Oh, and I'll need a console table. Or something more repurposeful than that.
But in all of this chairness today, I tweeted a tweet about its enormity, and one of my Twitterpals replied, "picture?"
So I snapped a few for him. (And by a few, I mean a ridiculous number that I don't even know and wouldn't reveal if I did. But the light in here was waning and my camera likes to focus only about 50 percent of the time and then in reviewing shots I'd see something out of sorts in the background and, well, you get the idea. Yes, I'm more than a little obsessive.)
Anyway, this is the comfy chair. The purple bear is named Miles. As in Davis. There's a story behind that. But I can't tell it to you here. You'll have to come by. Because action is required to properly tell the tale. But he wanted to pose for the picture. He's a subtle sort of bear, but he likes his picture taken every now and then.
A normal person would have seen Jamie's Twitter request, snapped a shot with her camera phone, uploaded it to TwitPic, and called it a day.
But I am not normal, as by now you should know.