A Chair’s Life

Just sitting around.  That’s what I do.  Waiting.  Lots of people come by, and they all stare at me for a few moments, then move on.  I like all the attention, but I’d kind of like it better if someone would put me to use.  And take me home with them.

I’m a chair.  Bor-ring you say.  Far from it!  From the way people look at me, I know I am something really special.  Maybe it’s the orange colored upholstery.  Or the fantastic mid-century modern shape.  I hear them say, “That is so cool!”  and “Wow, that is really unusual.”  Yeah, I’m special.

Right now I live in an antique shop.  As a matter of fact, it was me who inspired my current owner to open this little store.  I pushed him over the edge in making up his mind, and taking action.  But I didn’t always live here.

My name is Kroehler.  At least that’s what the label under my seat cushion says.  I’m a baby boomer.  Born sometime in the late 1950’s or early 1960’s.  In Illinois.  Or maybe North Carolina.  I was very young at the time and can’t really remember. I’m sturdily constructed with solid wood, nice upholstery with fine detailing and quality American craftsmanship.


My first family was a young couple.  Very hip people.  They always kept up with the style trends and knew that I was the latest, coolest thing.  I was in their living room for many years.  When Richard or Elizabeth wanted to watch that television thing they sat in me.  They had a lot of parties and I got to be acquainted with quite a number of interesting people.  They would sit and talk and laugh and keep me warm.  I’m big enough that sometimes several people would sit on me.

As time passed, and the family grew, Liz and Dick changed up the décor of the living room several times, but they always kept me.  Liz would say, “such good bones.  And a bold shape and color.”  I was sort of a centerpiece around which she created her home décor.  And she would never let the children sit in me.

Then one day she came home with a new chair.  Garish thing.  And I was moved into the basement room.  There I stayed, rarely having any visitors.  That phase of my life lasted a long while and so my upholstery got a respite, and today is in darn good shape for someone my age.

Liz and Dick didn’t hold up quite as well as my solid wood frame, and they went off to live in another home.  Neither Richard, Jr. nor Katie wanted me, or most of the other things their parents had accumulated over their lifetimes, so I was sold at an estate sale.  I sat in a little shop for a while, until the day my current owner saw me.  I could see the love in his eyes.  I knew I was moving again.  Now I’m sitting in his shop, very comfortably I might add, getting to know a number of really cool other antiques there.  Some mid century like me, others from other periods.  But all really very nice. 

And people stare at me.  I’m in the limelight again.  But I’d like to go to a home where people will sit in me sometimes.  That’s what I’m for.  I’m a chair! Come visit me at Living History Antiques in the HodgePodge antique mall in Monroe, Georgia.  

That’s part of the chair’s story.  What’s yours?  www.personalhistorywriter.com


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