The Green Chair - Part 2

We last left this green chair in the embrace of memory and moment with the close of yesterday's post.

As we left the chair, we were beginning to unravel the story around presence and place, of memory and meaning, of the spider webs of stories that surround such a emblematic icon of a family's history. So, settle back with your cuppa and let's jump back in.

I'm the newest out-law of the family, having just taken the plunge into this expansive collection of personalities within the last few months. There are others, for sure, but they've had the benefit of decades, of histories closely entangled with the partners they've chosen. As it were, I was in the room with two of the other out-laws, older and no doubt wiser, and being able to listen to these sisters tell stories lent weight to the future I had chosen.

Settled into my verdant throne, Frida nestled to my left hip, I listened and watched. I looked at the crinkles around eyes, I heard the soft plosives, the excited exhilations, I saw the gestures, the sit-backs, the leaning ins. Written across any and all expression was the gentle lace of time, something unescapable.

The stories were as wild as could be imagined, the images of a more rural time flashing before my mind's eye, as kids, young adults, and even fully-fledged adults navigated the vast expanses of lived experiences. One story in particular, was quite hilarious, if only for the vision of getaway drivers, nuns, and a box full of religious relics being left on the doorstep of an abbey. There was something in there about a light-up plastic Mary too. The mind, dear souls, boggles at such hijinks.

Stories are rarely jointed the way we expect. There are twists and turns, side roads to be explored, emotions that can be uncovered with the barest scrape of dusty recounting. Finding myself pressed into the green chair, head tucked to my hand, cradled, listening, I absorbed it all.

The chair faded to the background. Indeed, as you'll probably understand by now, the chair was just another actor, another set-piece in the theatre of time. That it existed and was the catalyst for this moment cannot be understated. But, its need for persistence in the events of that evening? Well, that was wholly different.

You see, what emerged from that evening of story, catalyzed by this felted green wonder, was recognition and healing.?It was a three sister, small stage retelling of life from another time. It was reconnecting past to present, a joining of present to a distant future, and a finely woven thread of legacy connecting each together. As I discussed in the post about?warp and weft, this was all about people, experience, and place creating a tapestry, a new cover for the verdant green chair.

My dear souls, the story may have ostensibly begun because of a chair but it started in the need for connection. The chair became the foil, the actor, the necessary implement to move bodies from one place to another, to move hearts from the dinner table to the wood paneled cottage living room, to move memories from the recesses of time to the fore. It was about the stories we find ourselves in, the people who compose the riotous soundtrack we live with, and the meaning of family.

Find yourself a chair, any chair really. Surround yourself with family, friends, lovers, all. Tell stories, dear souls, and let the gentle thread of grace connect you all.

May it ever be so.

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