Goodbye to My Faithful . . . Chair

Eons ago, when I was still an unpublished author, I sprang for what at the time felt like a really expensive desk chair for someone who'd yet to sell a book. I suffer from a bad back thanks to a serious tobogganing accident in my misspent youth, and so I ordered a chair that was custom built to give me the support I needed. It didn't look like much, but it was a wonderful chair.  Every single book I ever published--and a few I didn't--I typed in that chair. When I moved from Australia to New Orleans, it came with me.

Eventually the fabric began to fray. I thought about recovering the seat, but there always seemed to be something else to do. When it went through Katrina, I refused to set it out on the huge trash pile that lined our street and simply scrubbed it down with bleach. My family said, "Don't you think you ought to get a new chair? That thing is embarrassing." I said, "I know. But it's so comfortable. And it's been with me through so much."

But eventually, the foam seat started to disintegrate. The adjustment mechanisms quit adjusting. Even my cleaning lady (tired of sweeping up bits of crumbling foam) said, "I think you need a new chair." And so, last Mother's Day, we trooped down to Ethan Allen and ordered a replacement. Today, it arrived. Yes, it's beautiful. Yes, it's comfortable. I guess after twenty years and twenty-two books, the time had come.