Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Ode to the King Chair


When my husband and I ventured to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for our honeymoon,
we found ourselves with a lacking supply of “beach accessories”. Swimsuits we had, but we lacked other necessities like beach towels, before going out in the sun lotion, after going out in the sun lotion, and of course, beach snacks.

While perusing the variety of goods housed at the local Walmart, we stumbled upon a beach necessity that we could not live without: the king chair. We were taken in quickly by its bright vinyl weave and its collapsible capabilities.

Our honeymoon would not be complete without it; of this we were sure.

We shared the chair (in true “honeymooner” fashion) throughout the trip, because we were too poor (or cheap?) to purchase two. Being the historically Alaskan residents that we were, one chair turned out to be a wise investment, because we had a pretty short tolerance for the beach front scene anyway.

The North Carolina summer time temperatures left us overheated in two hours or less, and we were content whittle away our afternoon hours at historical sites within driving distance. Kitty Hawk flight museum? Check. Roanoke Lost Colony? Done. Jamestown? Conquered.

Are we nerds? Yes, but that’s why we get along so well.

The king chair returned to Ohio with us and was tucked away in our attic for a season, but it was not forgotten. Every summer as I would rest and rejuvenate from the previous school year I would carry it down to a corner of our yard where I would read, or watch the squirrels, or listen to the breeze.

The king chair came to represent relaxation at its best, getting away from things that stress and burden, coming to a place where I could clear my head—be it on the beach or in the yard.

This past winter the king chair returned to sand and waves, accompanying me, Curtis and two other friends in our twenty hour drive to South Florida. It was on this trip that it was given its name, as it was the only beach furniture that had made the trip. Three of us would lounge on a sheet laid out on the sand, while one would rest in the lap of luxury in a chair (theoretically) fit for a king.

Spring break has found me back in the king chair, reading in the sun in unseasonably warm temperatures that find me unable to stay inside to accomplish my “goals for the break”.

Surely they can wait until I have to shut the windows against the cold, until I have to wear socks and long sleeves once again.

Until then, I will leave the chair out of the attic, anxious to use it any chance I can.

Status of the king chair with the move?
It’s coming.

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