Chairs and the Art of Silence

The house I grew up in—my mother’s design, another thing for which she can be blamed—consisted of a living room, a dining room, an eat-in kitchen, a half bath on the first floor; upstairs, four bedrooms and two full baths.  (Here as an aside I shall mention that the bedroom I shared with my sister had a heat vent that wasn’t attached to the furnace, thus no heat.  Again, thank you, Mom.)

What is the point of my description you might well ask?  Well, in all the house in which I grew up there wasn’t one comfortable chair where one could just plop one’s fanny down and read.  The living room was dominated by a television and furniture that, even when new, would be uncomfortable within a month.  I never understood this because, when I had a house and bought my own furniture, the chairs stayed intact for years.  And yet a dawning came when my brother arrived for a visit, sat down in my favorite recliner and broke it.  Sigh.

Okay, let’s leave aside the overweight.  Every house should have one spot—or, better yet, several—where one can just sit down, take out a book and read.  Or even sit down, look out the window and contemplate the world beyond. Or sit down and meditate on how you’re going to afford another recliner.  Whatever.

I could never find peace in my mother’s house.  There wasn’t a single room where one could simply be alone with one’s thoughts.  Perhaps that’s why, when I had a house of my own, I created space for the absence of noise.  Difficult with three children you say?  Yes.  But as mothers we achieve the impossible, or go crazy trying.

Even now, living alone in what some might call old age, those “some” being my children and the help at Costco, who see me coming and get their wand ready to check out heavy items—and yes, I am old enough to buy that bottle of bourbon—I have spaces for absolute silence where my thoughts can wander.  In other words, I have chairs.

True, I have a sofa where three people can sit uncomfortably.  But I use it for folding clothes.  In my living room I have an Amish rocker with footstool.  I also have a recliner that no longer reclines but I use an Ottoman because these little tootsies have to be propped up to be comfortable.  However, I will confess that I mainly use the living room to watch television in the evening.  I have a strict rule that, unless there’s a national or international disaster, the television never goes on before five in the evening.  The evenings are my time-waster, the day being done and something maybe having been accomplished.

I know.  Many people watch television during the day.  But what’s gained?  Wouldn’t it be better to fill that time with various forms of contemplation?  Do we always need outside stimulation?  We are born to think, as a certain Frenchman once put it.  To observe.  In my quiet moments chair-sitting, I like to watch the birds crowding my bird feeder or the rabbit that visits, hoping—or hopping—for something to eat.

More chairs:  In my bedroom I have a chair that I sometimes use to just sit in the sun, as it streams through the windows.  Glorious.  I also use it to put on my socks.  Sock-putting could be considered something of a ritual, couldn’t it?

But the masterpiece of my house is the addition, almost the size of the entire first floor.  Believe me, it existed when I bought the house. I’m not that ambitious.  But when the house was being renovated, the contractor suggested wiring the fireplace to that I could put a television there.

Sacrilege!!!!!

I told him on no account would there be any noise in that back room.  Except of course for the clacking of the computer keys.  This was to be my sanctuary.

So it has proved.  Aside from the computer, I have a frame with a futon on it in case someone decides to stay over.  (I’ll admit I’ve eliminated all the beds from the bedrooms except mine.  Selfish?  Or ingenious?).  Then I have two wonderfully relaxing chairs with foot stools, one in the sun, when it deigns to shine, and one in the shade.

I could live in this room.  Some day I might have to, as it has a bathroom with a walk-in shower.  But let’s not go there just yet.  Every day it brings me great joy to hear—the silence.

I hope that in the cacophony of your own life you also can find a place of peace.  On that every special chair.