Sunday, April 1, 2012
Day 1: Lobject’s rocking chair
I’ve put a worn, blue blanket on the back of the chair. I imagine draping it over her legs and a soothing, “Thank you, dear.” She’s drinking lemon tea. A splash of milk goes in the mug first. Coral slippers push gently off the rug and it’s snowing outside. She’s come to visit the grandkids we don’t yet have. She sits there throughout the day and she’s happy for us in our new house. She watched over our guests and the house.
At first, I didn’t like the rocking chair, told my husband it would not go in the living room. “A room upstairs,” I said, peering above my glasses—my classic I-mean-it look. I meant it when I said it and I think Maw Maw would like her rocking chair in the corner by the window, but I didn’t see her in the chair, the curved wood of her limbs, the back and forth of her body as she speaks, children upon her lap indenting the weaved, lattice base. I still don’t see the rocking chair through my husband’s eyes, but I see Maw Maw in my own way and I’m happy to have her in our house.