The broken chair

My mom finally asked which chair the children broke. I knew she eventually would. She wouldn't be able to stand not knowing. Most of the furniture in our home came from her at one time or another. She furnished all our houses, my sister and brother and mine. You can hardly tell she gave anything away though.

Its partly because she has a big house and partly because she has been the care giver for the next generation up for many years. She is the only woman on her side of the family of that generation, and closest relative to many elderly cousins. Over time she has stayed in contact and had to assist them as they aged out of their homes. When the relative passes, it has become her job to clean up.


There was 98 year old Aunt Lucy on the east side of town. She was really my Step Dad's Aunt. I am guessing his father's sister, but don't quote me. Doc had 12 siblings I understand. She was a hoarder and survivor of the depression era and the War. She had saved every nylon she ever wore and the leather insoles of her shoes. She couldn't see, was completely blind. But she could count the steps to the local mini mart on her street. Mom had her for dinner one night for her birthday. She complained the food was bland. The woman was so old she had no taste buds left. Due to her strong personality and the assistance of family checking in on her, mom would take her shopping, she was able to stay in her house until the end.

Then there was Margaret Luse. She had a rent controlled apartment in San Fransisco for at least 60 years if not longer. She was smart as a tack. Never married, nor did her brother. He was a merchant marine in WWII. She was a savvy investor also. She grew up in Coos Bay where the original pioneers on my mother's side of the family settled. When Margaret finally gave up that apartment in San Fransisco, I am sure the land lord was thrilled to get it back. Margaret went back to Coos Bay to live. She got herself a house on the beach, but ended up in a retirement home. My parents would make regular trips to visit her. She was a chain smoker at 96. The facility told her there was no smoking in her room so she would hang out all day in a garden room that did allow smoking. They tried to limit her to one carton a day or one cigarette an hour. She told them to .... Well, she was outspoken. At 96 what was she going to do, die? My mom loved Margaret Luse.

What I am trying to say is all our furniture has history. It came from someone in the family. Mom would inherit or take care of the estate for the rest of the family. For the children moving out, she had beds, dressers, tables and chairs, whole kitchen sets available and waiting in the basement or garage, in storage for us. We didn't purchase things for our homes without checking with Gigi first to see if she had one, what ever it was.

So this chair the children broke had history. It was a Windsor rocking chair with a wicker seat. It was in Louisville, Kentucky. It probably came from my Dad's family or the Marquette Hotel which my great grandfather owned and my Dad helped manage when he was in College. My mother rocked us in it when we were born. I had rocked my boys in it when they were born. Perhaps my Dad had been rocked in it when he was little. It was old and the stained arms were worn with the hands of many generations. The chair was stained black, but the stain had faded. It wasn't a fake antique, it was real.

When I heard the crash I knew I would be devastated and would dwell on the loss. I did. I moved the chair to the front porch in pieces. I couldn't bare to throw it away. I would see it every day. Finally one day we were going to have company, so I had to move it to the garage, where it now resides. I know from all my shows that I watch I could have it repaired, but repaired chairs have lost most of their financial value. I would only be repairing it for sentimental value. All four legs broke. Trevor went down so hard that pieces splintered off the top of the back curve also. The wood was brittle.


My mom feels the same pain I do. There is so much sentimental value in that chair. She has offered to have it looked at, to see if it is even reasonable to have it repaired. If the back hadn't broken also, I would be more enthusiastic. I am just unsure if it is wasted effort and money at this point. So I told her I would pull a "Ginger". I would give her the broken chair to do with what she will. If she can get it fixed fantastic. If it can't be fixed, it is her job to throw it away.

Tom calls some of the things we receive "Gigi's treasures". They are beat up or dinged. Ornaments we made as children, dishes with chips, tables with rings in the finish, a dresser with still active wood worms in it from Margaret Luse, or dressers with fragil drawers. She can't just throw these treasures away or donate them. So she passes them on. They are treasures with sentimental value. It is our responsibility now to do with these items what we will. Passing them on takes away the guilt over what to do with them. So I am giving Gigi the broken rocking chair. I can't stand the thought of throwing such a treasure away. I am abdicating responsibility.