The Orange Chair.

I was twelve years old, we had just moved into what would be the third favorite house of my childhood. My sister and me shared a room that overlooked a beautiful sliver lake that glimmered in the sunset and turned angry grey when it stormed.

The sun always streamed in and we had these beautiful wood floors.

We loved our room- it had a chalkboard door and we would write and scribble notes on it.

Our oldest sister who is the most talented decorator and oldest brother who is a artist gifted us a mural wall that was a downtown coffee scene- a man and women chatting over coffee and a girl standing on a balcony over looking the town- there was a flower shop with a orange overhang. We painted our ceiling in colors of blue. The windows where framed in a haze of soft browns. It was a magical room- a room that was meant for dreams.

After the walls and ceiling where painted- thats when we found it- The Orange Chair. Little did we know how much this little chair would mean to us.

You where old when we found you. You had a story of your own- and when you where brought into our little room of dreams you inspired us. We would take turns sitting in you- writing in our journals- creating stories, reading books- oh the books we read- there was one book that we would reread- I still have it and its all beat up from the times we would throw it down because the way the writer describe her subjects where just so crazy funny.

We would stay up late- talking, sharing stories of our day- our thoughts and what we wanted to do when we got older.

Then their where those times when we would sit in that chair together and cry… cry over boys, over broken hearts or dreams- and we would laugh.

You have seen and heard so much dear Orange chair.

We promised each other the year we got you that whoever would get married first would have to give up the chair. So it happened that you became mine- but you where never really all mine- you where still ours.

When I needed to have my sister there I would sit in our comfy Orange Chair- it became like a hug.

The years came and went and then I was married and starting a family of my own- a thousand miles away from family and you where still there- like a hug for me to climb into whenever homesick- you held my firstborn- and then second.

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You have traveled a lot of miles.

I am glad we kept you- I am glad we never covered up your rusty Orange color.

How a chair can be more then a chair- i am not sure- but it is.

I am sure we all have a Orange Chair that we love.

6 thoughts on “The Orange Chair.

  1. Sounds you like you had some amazing experiences that revolved around that orange chair. I love the description of your room. It sounds like your older siblings really loved you and your sister b/c they put so much into making sure your room was special. I hope you are able to pass the chair down to your children and that they too will have fond memories of it.

    Liked by 1 person

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