Parlor Chair

There is a spot in my grandmother’s home It is reserved for guests Older aunts and uncles on a visit, the parish priest, old friends that grandma wanted to impress I have always wanted to sit in it, if only for a moment Grandma was a lady Graceful, warm and loving She was a beautiful lady, tall and slender The chair meant a great deal to her And she let everyone know that it was reserved for special guests only It didn’t appear to be a very comfortable chair The plastic that covered the fabric had kept the rose colored petals and swirling green vines so vivid after all these years. I hoped it would get worn at some point Then it might not be so special And I might get the chance to sit in it. I remember standing behind the book shelves, peering out and watching grandma sit Aunt Marge in the parlor chair She looked so regal sitting there The dark wood arms and back held her posture so perfectly Is it possible that the seat of honor magically made people appear more poised, almost noble? Whatever it was, I was not allowed to sit there The chair sat in its same spot, year after year In the corner of the front room Where the sun would glow through the sheer curtains and rest softly on its arms I had never forgotten about the chair But time and distance kept me from visiting grandma as I used to It would be 20 years since my fascination with the parlor chair first took hold This time I would come to visit and hope it was still there How I wanted to see the rose pattern with the lovely green vines To see the glow of the sun raining down in the corner of the room As it had so many years ago There she was, much smaller than I remembered her Her hair completely white, her smile still proud and welcoming As I walked through the front door, she held me as if catching up on all the years we spent apart She grabbed me by the arm and led me to “the chair” She sat me down and smiled, almost knowing what she was doing, what this meant to me After talking for hours, she took my hands in hers She told me how she had always wanted a parlor chair, just like her mother had Although as a child, she was never allowed to sit in it She would watch family; visitors and special guests enjoy her mother’s hospitality while sitting in that chair It meant so much to her When she married, her mother gave her the parlor chair She told my grandmother, that it was hers now, and that she should save it for special guests Our greatest love is our family; our children They belong sitting on our laps, held in our arms, not in chairs covered in plastic Guests need to feel welcomed into your home, a special spot of their own Knowing that I looked upon the chair just as she had; she felt I would be the best person to care for it Grandma passed away two years after that visit When she would visit my home, she would marvel at the beauty of the rose pattern and the winding green vines Her approving smile let me know that I had placed the chair in the proper area of my front room Her visits were few as she was getting on in age However, whenever she visited my home The parlor chair was her seat; she was always my special guest