Taking Things Seriously

I came across this book--Taking Things Seriously: 75 Objects with Unexpected Significance--at the Curiosity Shoppe last week. The title appealed to me right away. Although I try not to think of myself as someone who takes things seriously, I have to admit I do take some things very seriously. My favorite essay in the book, out of the ones I've read so far, is the one that appears on the back cover, which you can read here (you'll need to click on "back cover" to read it). Anyone who knows me well will know why this particular story holds meaning for me. I had the hardest time letting go of the dark red wingback chair that my mom sat in for years, while chain smoking cigarettes. (She no longer smokes, thank goodness.) When my mom moved from Atlanta to Virginia she gave me the chair and the sofa that matched it. But over the years the chair in particular became more worn, and later it became the cat's favorite scratching post. After Sophie got a hold of it, the chair was beyond repair. I couldn't even donate it. It lived in our garage for about a year because I had such a hard time with the idea of parting with it. Eventually, though, it went to the dump. I still think about that chair and mom sitting in it. I wish I had thought to saw part of it off to keep forever. I'm sure it will be just as hard for me to part with the sofa. The sofa's been re-built once and re-covered three times (this furniture's been around since I was about 6, I think). But it's a short, low to the ground kind of sofa that you sink into. It's not especially comfortable, and it's terrible for Andrew's back, which gives him problems. But, oh, if only the sofa could talk--the stories it would tell! Maybe I'll saw the arm off the sofa before we say goodbye to it.