My Chair

"Bring your chair. Put it there. (My Chair, by Betsy James)"


I love my chair. It's Kelly green, with a rounded back, and soft buttons. It's short, for a rocking chair, but perfect for my 5 foot body. I've rocked at least one of my babies there every night since Winston came home from the hospital.


"My chair works because I bend in the middle. My chair holds me up in the air."


Actually though, this chair was not originally mine. It was left here by the elderly woman that sold us her house. Our home was built in 1954, but we are only the second owners. After her husband died, the sweet lady who lived here decided to move to Louisiana to be with her kids.


She left behind so many wonderful things that have become our treasures. My favorite frying pan, a 1970s record player, handmade furniture that her husband built. But the thing that means the most to me is this chair.

"My chair smells good... ...because it used to be a tree."


I thought for a long time about writing to her and telling her about the babies that were rocked here. That this chair is how I know I'm home when we've been gone for a long trip. I do my best writing, praying, thinking, reading, knitting in this green seat.

"My chair is a fort, a forest, a tower, a truck, a gate, a cage, an ocean..."


The chair is part of my nook. A corner in my bedroom that is my space. I let the boys sit in the chair every now and then, but this spot belongs to me. The curtains behind me were made for my husband my the mother of a foster child he was counseling. Black with bright green, pink, red, and gold flowers, they shine with the sunlight behind them and mesmerised my babies when they were little. To my left is a painting by a New Orleans artist called "Bread of Heaven"; a picture of a parent holding a small baby bundled in a white blanket. And if I look in the mirror across from me over my dresser I see "The Lovers" by Magritte and the two belly casts my husband helped created when I was very pregnant with our children.


How could she have known? That sweet woman. The home that she created has become our home. There is a quote from one of Vicki Iovine's books about the house where you bring your children home being your Bethlehem. That is how I feel.


"Who does not use chairs? Birds, fish, skunks, pigs, weasels- everbody but us."

She told the lady down the street that she was ok with us having her house because she just knew we were good people. I didn't change a thing inside for a long time because I wanted so much to honor what she and her family made. Now when I see the things she left for us I know they will come when we have to go too. This house, when we are threw here, will only go to someone who she would be proud to have it.



"When the world is too big, my chair is just right. ... My chair is for me. My chair is here. My chair is home."