June 28, 2014

The Marshmallow Chair

      Where do we find those moments in life that, however insignificant, will loom large as memorable details of the big picture? In those final moments when we wind down and our time here is complete, fewer of those memories will be those big moments, I think, and the little things will loom large.
      When my children were little I remember a very overwhelmed young mother telling me her diabolical plan to launch a career. As her kindergartener clung to her ankles on the first day of school,  she explained how she would be there for the quality times in his life. I couldn't help but disagree. When are those quality times? Do you plan them? Do they come sometime between  5 and 9 P.M.? Do they happen on weekends? Do you have to be over thirty? Do they come when you earn more than $100K a year? No, with children and lifetimes they come in the oddest moments and sometimes the oddest packages.
      They come in that moment when you first look into your newborn baby's eyes and meet the little person who's been poking you from the inside. They come that day you put your house key into the door of your first home and step inside. Sadly they also come with Dear John letters and late night phone calls. These are the big moments. In between are a million little ones.
      Like the stars in the sky little events fill my life and I love never knowing when or what they might be. I know I miss too many of them. While trying to fit more into a lifetime that would likely fit better into two, I suspect many fly right by unnoticed in the rush. But then something happens that catches me by surprise. Yesterday that was the marshmallow chair.
      I figured out this morning that over the last year I have written more than 1,400,000 words. I'm still debating exactly how I feel about that. Yeah, I'm compulsive in most things I do. I'm a fussy housekeeper, over zealous creator and apparently completely incurable writer. Then I think of the doors it has opened in my life and I have to smile.
      Every one of those words was written while perched on an antique banker's chair. It is solid wood, it creeks and doesn't roll very well. The paint is chipped and it numbs my posterior in a quick fifteen minutes. Yesterday my husband gave me the marshmallow chair.
      The chair is a puffy cream leather and vibrates and is heated and has a hydraulic back that leans way back and it makes me feel loved. The marshmallow chair is one of those moments that didn't go unnoticed. It's a moment when that wonderful man in my life wrapped me again in love and support. He's done it for over thirty years, this time he did it by buying me a chair. I am warm and loved and when I sit to write I am supported by the chair. I'm glad I noticed this time.
      Now I think I'll lean back and go to Stavewood and write another chapter while in the marshmallow chair.


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