Mr. Fix-It

Like Goldilocks checking out the 3 bears' chairs, Jack and I plopped our bottoms down in a lot of chairs before agreeing on what we considered the perfect recliner. It turned out to be made of distressed brown leather and had just the right kind of squishy-ness so that when you sat down you could sink back into a nest-like spot you'd already perfected.

It was supposed to be "my" chair, replacing the old and worn rocker I'd brought into the relationship. It didn't take long, however, for Jack to claim it as his own. He stuffed a feather pillow into the crack in the middle, to ease the pain in his back; and kept the matching brown quilt thrown over the back. It was my chair in name only... mostly it was Jack's watching TV chair, Jack's talking to his cat chair, Jack's napping chair.

One day Jack was lying there. I couldn't help myself. He looked so cute - the chair so inviting. I didn't do an actual flying leap, but I did spread my arms wide and kind of flop into the chair with him. I didn't know the chair was unstable, or if I did, I didn't take that into consideration before pouncing on my sweetie. Down we went, and as we worked our way to the floor, as if in slow motion, it was hard to tell who groaned louder, Jack or the chair.

We laughed til we cried. The chair seemed to groan until we figured out a way to untangle ourselves. It wasn't as easy getting out of the predicament as it was getting in. You know how Orca whales look when they are stranded on a dry beach. They can move a dorsel fin (hand) or give a little tail (foot) wag, but mostly they are stuck til the tide comes in. To our disadvantage that day, there was no tide rising in our den. We were beached for sure.

We finally righted ourselves and the chair. But sadly, our old brown friend never worked the same after that. Getting to the reclining position wasn't a problem, but it was always difficult to get the kick plate back where it belonged. The harder it got to get up and down, the more frustrated Jack got. When it became clear the chair was not going to fix itself, Jack decided to take matters into his own hands.

His tools of choice where giantic wrenches whose main purpose, if I were to guess, has something to do with under-the-sink pipes. He turned the chair upside down, and proceeded to operate; no anesthesia or laytex gloves just a man hell bent on getting the job done in time for the ten o'clock rerun of CSI. I have to admit, seeing him with those wrenches kind of impressed me.

But good impressions don't always last. I was down the hall when I heard the crash and the humble cry for help. I ran down the hall to make sure everything was okay. Jack had bent, or unbent, a major strut under the chair. The recliner worked better, but was a little less stable. And let's just say, the sitter-back-upper was worse off than before. (See that handle on the side of the chair ... it has the look of an arm with a compound fracture, doesn't it. Let's just say it was 180 degrees out from where it was supposed to me.)

Lou, the Furniture Medic, came to assess the situation out. He poked a little here and there under the wires and underpinnings of the chair, just to make us think there was hope. Sadly, it only took a matter of minutes before he declared our worn leather comrad DOA.

Jack brought in a replacement chair from his office. It sits in the same spot that the recliner filled so majestically. The feather pillow has been discarded but the brown quilt rests on the back. Somehow, it's just not the same. Saying goodby is never easy. We're considering turning the chair into a planter!

me