My quaint old house faces a busy side street with a covered porch nestled within the long arms of a maple tree. It's character weathered by time as it bravely looks out over the ever-changing world atop a secluded little hill. My husband has plans to enclose a portion of the area to create a formal foyer inside. But until then, MY plans are to create a quiet and welcoming spot to greet friends, watch birds and read the morning paper - anything that will fill the large, cold and cracked concrete vacancy.
When I was a young girl, I often thought I had been born into the wrong era. Even into my teen years, I collected things that would today be flea market treasures and surrounded myself with what they now call shabby chic decor. My style had less to do with a lack of fashion or design sense, but more out of love for all things Victorian in look and feel. Fine linens and floral china patterns, soft colors and airy ferns - even hair bound into a loose Gibson. Thank goodness it was the 80's and those awful doily collars WERE in style!
...but I never got my wicker chair...
I had wanted one; high in back and painted white. A place to throw a few pillows that I had stitched out of Granny's old hankies or curl up with a good book and a tattered quilt from the hope chest. A symbol of solitude and protection to me - of a simpler time. That is just what my front porch needed now! In this age of blinding internet speed, I looked towards the first place I knew to hunt one down, Craigslist of course. My initial search came up empty with sets that were too modern or too far away or too...something. I just wasn't feeling it. So I continued my day as usual, not giving the subject much more thought.
I typically take a break at lunchtime to walk my dog and clear my head. It is during this time that I focus not only on the task at hand, but on private meditation that may turn into informal prayer. My talks with God have been more like requests lately when it comes to "the baby thing"; asking for an open mind into new opportunities, wide eyes to recognize one when it is right in front of me and for a prepared heart into the unknown - and for peace. Such was my prayer that day.
At the end of my work day, I felt rushed to get it all wrapped up so I could head out and catch my nephew's baseball game. It was sunny and I had been missing the kiddos! As I started to fly out the door I halted to run back and grab the cell phone I had forgotten still charging in the office; waving a "just a second!" hand at my impatient husband who was revving up the engine and waiting for me in the driveway. I grabbed the phone and glanced at the computer left open on the desk. The wicker chair flashed in my head. "Oh, I'll just check once more", I thought.
There...on the very top listing, just posted a few minutes before, was not ONE chair but TWO! Painted an updated brown, adorned with tastefully simple cushions, at the right price and close-ish to home. Like a cat on a mouse, I pounced; not only emailing but calling as well - afraid I would miss my chance to snag them if I didn't harass the poor sellers. Never once did it cross my mind that it might be a scam or that I might need to be careful for weirdos - I wanted those chairs darnnit! The next day, I was making arrangements to pick up MY 'new' wicker chairs.
The story ends there, right? Not so fast.
My drive to claim the bounty was about 45 minutes - plenty of time for wandering thoughts and more talks to myself and to God. I felt blessed to have healed from so much going on lately, that my elders that recently landed in the hospital were also on their way to recovery and that things at work were starting to stabilize again - and that my house was REALLY starting to feel like home. The urge to nest was returning and I embraced it.
I arrived at the sellers' home. It was warm and welcoming with a cute wreath on the door. I rang the bell and was greeted by the woman-of-the-house, tall and slender with the auburn hair I have always envied. I was graciously received inside where her husband led us all down to finalize the sale. Conversation was easy and I didn't lift a finger as the goods were loaded and strapped up for me in the back of the truck. I had enjoyed the process and was happy to have 'clicked' with this charming couple. Off I went.
More time for my thoughts to meander as I drove back home. I found myself recalling the details of the couple's newly finished basement and appreciating the decor - paying special attention to the landing at the foot of the stairs where children had been playing with a toy car track of some kind. They had mentioned two children, young but not babies, a few years apart. What an absolute charming family. I silently wished them well.
Once home, I couldn't wait to set up my front porch! I had purchased a large outdoor rug to cover up the barren and damaged concrete slab. I was afraid that the double package would be too large, but they fit perfectly, looking like they had always been there - like they belonged. A side table and a potted flower later...and WHAM!...instant cozy completeness! It felt like a peaceful little sanctuary.
I had some work to complete, so headed back to my laptop. Just then an email popped up from the mother whom had found a new home for her wicker chairs, checking to make sure I had made it back without blowing away. I responded and couldn't resist including a quick snapshot of the new digs. I finished up the loose ends that had taken me back to my office and closed it down for the weekend ahead; throughout which I told everybody who cared (and I'm sure some that didn't) about my little story and the nice little family I got to meet.
When I returned to get a head start and clean out junk emails from my work email account on Sunday night, I saw that I had missed a few from the seller. She had followed-up with a quick inquiry about my blog and "the baby thing", apologizing if she had crossed the line and adding that her interest was peaked not out of some weird nosiness, but from experience and wanted to offer any help if she could be of any resource to me. You see, her children are adopted.
Little could I have ever conceived on my own that my childhood desire for a woven symbol of refuge would turn into a present-day obsession to fill a tangible void. An indirect answer to prayers? The start of something bigger to which I am being prepped? Or just a far-fetched coincidence and an over-emotional heart and an over-imaginative brain.
I have a feeling this is not the end of The Wicker Chairs Story, do you?
