To all the chairs I’ve loved before

An ode. A love letter. A trip down memory lane.

Dear Yellow Fake Eames Rocking Chair,

Oh, how bold and beautiful you were! How you brightened up our family room! How you perfectly matched the colour of the forty-dollar cushion I bought from Freedom, strategically positioned on the other side of the room to balance out the ‘colour flow’. You may not remember this, but, every morning, I would carefully and tenderly position you at a precise forty-five degree angle on the corner of our stripy rug—only to have it moved by a littler person some five minutes later. How the boys used to love sitting on you and rocking on you! Thankfully, none of them ever tried to ‘surf’ you, and it’s an absolute miracle no toes were ever squashed. Even though you were a shameless replica of the Eames Rocking Chair, we loved you anyway. In our eyes, you were the real deal, and I cannot imagine what our family room would’ve been like without you.

Dear Bright Red Lip Chair,

I have a confession to make. We never told you this in the eight years that we had you, but... your sole purpose was to add colour to an otherwise beige room. Yes, I’m sorry, but you were only for show. Pure eye candy. I mean, occasionally, we did let visitors sit on you, but mostly, you were the red lipstick we bought to glam up the space. I'm sorry if this hurts, but after all this time, I thought you should know.

Dear Teal Swivel Armchair,

Do you remember how you lived in the sunny spot next to the window in our lounge room? In the afternoons, before the older boys came home from school and before the younger ones woke up from their naps, I would sit on you, gaze out the window, and savour the peace and quiet before the ensuing chaos. I reckon you had the best spot in the house. One time, when we had relatives over, we made a somewhat startling discovery: a dry old sandwich was sandwiched underneath your seat cushion. After several rounds of interrogation, we learnt the truth: our oldest child (then aged seven) had hidden it there a few weeks earlier because he hadn't wanted to finish it for lunch at school. Seriously gross. ‘I'd forgotten about it’ was his entire line of defence. Miraculously, there was no lingering smell, and thankfully, you went on to live many happy sandwich-free years.

Dear Olive Green Swivel Armchair,

I’m sorry. While Teal Swivel Armchair had the best spot in the house, you were shoved into the corner of our formal dining room. It must’ve been a bit lonely in there. Sadly, my main memory of you is one borne of trauma. It was a weekday. I was feeling grumpy with Rick about something vaguely important, so I sought you out and flopped down to cool off. Moments later, I saw a tiny brown head peek around the corner. I thought I was hallucinating. Nope. It was a red belly black snake. Inside our house. Less than five metres from where I was sitting. Looking at me before it slithered its way across the room. Naturally, I screamed. Rick raced into the room, and all I could do was point silently at the snake whilst keeping my feet off the floor. Thank you, Olive Green Swivel Armchair, for keeping me safe in my hour of need. I will never forget it.

Dear Small Bright Orange Chair,

We discovered you in a little furniture shop in Chippendale. We were looking for a Danish dresser, but I'm so glad we found you instead. Normally, orange is not my colour, but you looked just like a miniature Parker armchair, and you were so cute with your vinyl seat covering and timber arm rests. We brought you home and placed you right under the kitchen hatch in the play room, and the boys used to stand on you every day to receive their snacks and cups of milk. Despite the fact that you were obviously a kid-sized chair, I would often squeeze my own seat onto your seat (with space to spare, might I add). You got so much traffic that, over time, we had to use black gaffa tape to keep you together. Sounds crude, I know, but the black tape matched your black chrome legs. So there’s that.

Dear Tan Wingback Chesterfield Armchair,

You were a handsome one. A thing of pure beauty. I found you on eBay before our youngest son was born, and you were of immaculate condition. We had just repainted and redecorated our bedroom, and you were the perfect addition to our little hideaway. Every evening, at twilight, after our little guy had had his bath, I would gather him up in my arms, seek you out, rest my head against your wingback, place my elbow on your armrest, and spend the next hour cradling and feeding my son. As I held him and gazed upon him and stroked his tiny soft cheeks, you were there to support us both. That nightly ritual was utterly precious to me, and the memory of it is etched upon my heart. I’m so thankful you were there to offer us sanctuary every evening, and I shall never forget you.

Dear Green Couch from Vinnies,

Oh, how I miss you! How we all miss you! We bought you for only a hundred dollars at Vinnies, but the memories you gave us were priceless. We took family photos on you, we read books to the boys on you, and we opened Christmas presents on you. When grandparents came over, the boys would stand on you and wave to them through the window, and now that I think about it, they would often stand on you and see who could fly their paper plane the furthest. You will always be one of my favourite couches, and I wish we could’ve kept you for longer. Sometimes I still find myself looking up green sofas on the internet, just to see whether there’s anything out there that reminds me of you. I hope your new family is treating you well, and I will cherish all the photos we have of you forever and ever.