I have this green chair.
I found it one day at a local second hand store, and knew it was perfect. My patterned green carpet and the fabric on this graceful chair were made for one another.
As it goes in a small town, the store keeper told me who had owned the chair previously, hoping I’d know her. Unfortunately, I didn’t. Fortunately, my mother was with me, and she did. They are artist friends.
Recently the fun day arrived for this sweet woman to come to my home to see where her chair was sitting. She told me how she’d loved that gray fabric when she found it, knowing she could dye it a lovely green to reupholster the chair.
I always enjoy having my mom’s artistic friends in my home. Inevitably they ask if I’m also a painter. I give my same response, sadly, no. My mother invariably chimes in with praise that I’m a writer. Typically they ask what I write about, as did Marie.
And I reply that I love to write about the simple pleasures in life. Like how I came to be the owner of a beautiful green chair, tailor made just for me.