Thankful for anyone who wants the chairs
This is the season where we take time to reflect on all the things that we are grateful for. Like knowing there are so many concerned people in the world who are willing to make the effort to call me throughout the day to let me know that my car’s warranty is going to expire. Or the fact that when discussing science or medicine, I have never once used the phrase, “I have done my own research.” BETSY And that, no matter BITNER how many people I
host for Thanksgiving, there will be a seat for everyone.
I’m not talking about metaphorical seats that would suggest that our doors and hearts are open to anyone who would like to share the holiday with us. I’m not that warm and fuzzy. I am talking about actual pieces of furniture that you can sit on. We have a lot of them.
Our house is blessed with way more chairs than derrieres. I guess we like to have options.
In our kitchen there are chairs around the table and at our island counter. We have desk chairs and video gaming chairs and chairs we sit in to keep our high maintenance cat company while he eats. There are places to sit to watch TV, to put on shoes, and there are places to sit in each of our bathrooms. Our plethora of seating options could be seen as an asset. That is, until we get to the dining room.
In our kitchen there are chairs around the table and at our island counter. We have desk chairs and video gaming chairs and chairs we sit in to keep our high maintenance cat company while he eats. There are places to sit to watch TV, to put on shoes, and there are places to sit in each of our bathrooms. Our plethora of seating options could be seen as an asset. That is, until we get to the dining room.
Our dining room was last used (checks notes) in the long-ago prepandemic times. We have a Chippendale dining table and breakfront that we bought at an antique show many years ago. We later discovered that the chairs that came with it were not part of the original antique Chippendale set. They are more likely from the newer Chippendale Dancers collection — they are cheap and flashy, and parts are constantly coming off them.
When my husband, a man who will not change the light bulbs in a threebulb fixture until all three bulbs are burned out, unexpectedly suggested that we buy new dining room chairs, I didn’t question the offer. Instead, I immediately set out to order new ones
by the light of my computer screen and the one remaining overhead bulb. Thanks to the miracle of the internet and the global supply chain, eight new dining chairs arrived on my doorstep six months later.
It should have been a cause for celebration, except there was one problem. Actually, there were eight problems: We still had the Chippendale Dancer chairs. Now our dining room was filled with 16 chairs, which is too many for even a seatobsessed person like myself. And the abundance seemed more acute when we considered there would only be four of us gathered around the Thanksgiving table this year. On the bright side, this meant we could play a lot of rounds of musical chairs before it even started to get competitive.
I briefly considered putting the old chairs in our basement, but it’s already pretty full. We still have the six chairs that went with the Ikea kitchen table we bought more than 30 years ago (they still work!) and four oak chairs from an old school that were going to be thrown out unless someone wanted them. Someone did want them and that someone was me. We all have our issues.
Since this is the season of giving, I decided to share our bounty with those who may not be fortunate enough to take a load off this holiday season. I found a local Freecycle group, took some pictures, and posted them online. I was giving the chairs away for free, so I hoped whoever came to get them wouldn’t confuse the Chippendale Dancer chairs with actual Chippendale Dancers and feel an urge to slip a $20 where the leg meets the seat.
For now they sit in our garage, arranged in perfect formation for the next meeting of Chairaholics Anonymous as I work my way down the list of people who have expressed interest in taking them. One by one, the potential takers have fallen through, and I am starting to sound like the Henny Youngman of furniture: Take my chairs. Please. In the meantime, I’ve been notified that the sofa I ordered nine months ago will be delivered next week. The home furnishings gods are laughing at me.
I will offer a prayer of thanksgiving if I can give away the chairs before the snow starts to fly, allowing me to park my car, which comfortably seats seven, in the garage again. And the next time a furniture accumulating opportunity comes my way, I promise to sit it out.