"The discontented man finds no easy chair."—Benjamin Franklin

Isn’t this chair A-MAZING?  If I could be a chair I would want to BE this chair!  It’s actually a found chair of which I became the serendipitous owner. 

I once worked for a lovely non-profit which was housed in an old jewelry factory and mostly decorated with mismatched furniture donated by the community.  Our chairs, desks and our favorite, the credenza, were quite worn…but free.  Despite the good intent of the donations, a very official person from a very official agency said we had to get rid of some of the items because they were not up to code.  Insert my good fortune here. 

I opened up my work inbox one morning to find an email announcing a particular chair needed a good home because it had only four legs and needed five to be a regulation chair.  It was the fear of the official person that someone might sit in it and flip out onto the floor causing them to sue our little non-profit.

I might add the email did not include a picture.  It simply stated the first person to walk to the back of the office and claim the four-legged chair would be its rightful owner.  You see not only did I really need an office chair, but I have a soft spot for things slightly broken, irregular or with missing parts.  A good example of this is the one-eyed teddy bear Christmas stocking I own because no one would take it at a holiday party I attended.  This chair was the furniture equivalent of a puppy with three legs.  I raced down the hall to claim it.

It felt like Christmas morning, one-eyed teddy bear stocking and all, when I saw the chair was actually the one pictured at the top of this post.  Pottery Barn sells something similar which retails for roughly $400.  I put a giant sign on it declaring my ownership.  Then I called my husband to explain I needed him to pick up yet another piece of abandoned furniture of which I had taken possession.

Oh, chair love is truly blind.  My husband informed me upon retrieval that my chair needed new casters.  He knew this because when he picked it up all the wheels fell off.  And it seemed to need some wood work, too.  The casters had fallen out because the threads were completely worn out.  I assured him I had big plans for my beautiful chair.  I had dreams of sanding, colorful paint and a set of brand spanking new casters.

It’s almost five years later, and I still haven’t replaced the casters.  The chair is still carefully perched on the original set.  Nor have I touched it with a piece of sand paper or a single drop of paint.  Oh, and sitting on it is a bit trickier than I thought.  But, hey, as long as you don’t lean back too far or try to pick it up, like at all, you’re fine.  I thought it was going to fit in perfectly with my shabby chic home décor once we moved into our house until I realized the original casters might scratch my new hardwood floors.  *sigh* 

My husband finally convinced me to let him put the chair in the attic.  I have to say to his credit every time we get down the Christmas decorations, one-eyed teddy bear stocking and all, he tells me to remind him to buy casters the next time we are at Home Depot.  I have no idea why I can’t get it together to fix this chair.  Part of me wants to use it just as I found it, but the crafty voice in my head wants to paint it a glossy bright green.  Make it perfect by accepting it is perfect the way it is?  Or make it perfect by crafting it into something that is perfect for me?  I think there is a metaphor for life in there somewhere.  I’m undecided on all accounts.

Lastly, here are some pictures of the other found chairs in my life. 

This is a picture of my great-grandmother’s rocking chair of which I am now the proud owner.  My mother gave it to me with the story that my great-grandmother rocked all of her babies in it, and the instructional warning that I should never rock my babies in it for fear we might fall out onto the floor. 

This is a picture of one of the four dining room chairs I inherited from my grandmother.  None are exactly alike because my grandparents put the set together one by one.  I know for sure the most unmatched of the group was discovered by my grandfather on the side of a country road while he was delivery eggs.  My grandmother recovered the seats back in the early nineties with this terribly tacky fabric which I can’t bear to remove because I get all of my tacky good taste from her.

For further reading on abandoned chairs:

50 Sad Chair by Bill Keaggy (I have to warn you it just might be the tiniest book you will ever read.  I’m sure the collection development department of my local library is still shaking their collective fist at me for requesting it.  Sorry!)