Thirteen years ago the garage in this house was converted to a bedroom. The plan had been to install my father there after Mom's death, but it turned out he couldn't handle the two shallow steps down to the garage level. Daddy got my bedroom instead, and I got the new one. Once Daddy had died, I went back to my old one and shortly afterwards Steve moved what would fit from his previous apartment into the former garage. We have been slowly adapting it to use by the two of us to share on our summers up here, now that my son Paul has bought the house. Early this summer Steve donated a large share of his books here to the local library for their sales to raise funds, and two large book cases became one small one. Other things relocated.
It has long needed a chair, something more than a folding one which usually becomes a clothing holder when things are between being clean on a hanger and tossed into a laundry hamper. The bed is high and not that comfortable for sitting, but floor space remained cluttered. When the room was designed, I had a hanging lamp installed in one corner, perfect for reading under while sitting in a comfy chair. Alas. The corner had become the default location for a display cabinet, empty and unused, a sentimental family heirloom Steve brought with him. Tall, shallow, nearly all glass, doors opening on the sides, it was previously owned by Steve's sister. Once she died, nobody in the family had a place for it. Had the timing been different, we might have moved it down to AZ to stand next to its twin which I'd happened to pick up at an auction, not realizing the two were identical. So there it stayed in the corner, empty, unappreciated.
He actually sold it once, but the person who bought it never came to pick it up for reasons not relevant to the story. Last week I was talking with a friend who happened to need one. I offered, and she arranged to have it taken away Sunday. It survived its ride to its new home, got cleaned, and is ready to be filled with a new supply of collectibles.
We had room for a chair!
What we didn't have were 1: a chair, and 2: a large budget for one. Solution? Thrift stores. So Monday I decided to head over to Forest Lake, 17 miles away, and an area with three thrift stores if the next town counts, as well as my favorite hair cutting place and my old oil change spot, both needed extra stops. I left early, considering that the stores didn't open till 10. No problem, as I could get my oil change right away.
That was the theory, anyway. The sign advertised no waiting, so I drove to the open space behind the first used bay. I was informed that I'd be gotten inside in just 5 minutes. Meanwhile the car next row over went in, and the one which pulled in behind me decided that line was to his best advantage and switched. When the same employee who greeted me greeted him, he was just there for a fluid top up, and got waved right into the third, heretofore empty bay, where they started to work on his car right away. Another car came and filled his spot. I wouldn't have noticed except the guy ahead of me, who was supposed to be done 10 minutes earlier, still sat over the pit, waiting for who knows what. Nobody was working in his car. Instead his guy was over in bay 3, chatting up the "top me up" guy. I could hear their conversation, vacations plans, some performance both liked, along with a third person, the greeter, who also had left his post and joined in. Nobody actually worked on his car after two minutes as by then his fluids were full.
Eventually, the car ahead of me left, I was guided to my spot over the pit, and... well, after another promise of being on the road in just 5 minutes, both guys who were to work on accomplishing that were back with Mr. Top Up. The greeter finally came over and checked my oil dip stick before my old oil got drained out. About 3 minutes later the second guy, the upper level one for my lane, came over and repeated the dip stick check since the greeter was back chatting and hadn't bother to inform him it had been done or what it said. It wound up taking an hour to get my oil changed. The fellows didn't even bother with trying to upsell me more services or products, because Mr. Top Up was still in the 3rd bay enjoying the company even as I finally drove out.
OK, enough nonsense. On to thrift store #1, one recliner. The color matched the bedroom decor, it was a wall hugger, and it was so huge that it must have belonged to somebody 6 1/2 feet tall and 400 pounds. The seat springs were sprung, and my own behind was less than a foot off the floor. Steve could never get out of this chair! I had enough trouble and my knees and back are all in much better shape. I was so low that I had to raise my arm up and over the chair arm, try to bend it where it didn't bend without serious trauma imposed on it first, in order to reach the lever raising the foot rest. This was a definite no sale.
Next two stores had none to try at all. I was starting to think I'd be better served by heading down to the metro to Slumberland, a favorite shopping spot for mattresses and recliners over previous decades. It was a lovely day for a drive, but when I got there, "there" was no longer home to a Slumberland. So back up to Forest lake for my haircut, last on my list because I didn't want itchy hairs all over me while I was trying to make sensible shopping decisions. Under those circumstances my choices tend to be based on getting home as quickly as possible so I could shower all those prickly hairs down the drain. I hadn't made a reservation online the way this chain likes, since I had no clue what time I might arrive. I didn't mind this wait as it was only about half an hour and the staff was being pretty efficient in getting through the customers ahead of me, notably unlike an earlier experience that day.
Once in the chair, I gave explicit directions on how I wanted my hair cut. Has that ever worked? Not this time either. Funny thing is, I actually like the cut this time. It's so short that I have no curl showing and won't need another cut for about three months. I can wake up, look at it in the mirror half a minute after leaving the pillow, and not see any need to brush a hair. That's my version of a summer haircut! By the time I got home it was well past time to give up for the day though. I could research other thrift stores further away, make a route of it, and start again in the morning. It was supposed to be too hot for yard work anyway.
My first thrift store next morning had no recliners in it. That was out east in Wisconsin. The next meant passing home heading west, then head north for the start of a huge loop covering three more counties. It was time for gas, since the second next town to the west from home has been having the lowest prices. Yesterday, not needing gas yet, it was down to $3.83. Forest Lake the day before was 4.39 on one side of a freeway exit and $.20 cheaper in the same chain on the other side of the same bridge. Today the gas near home was down to $3.80. Good thing to wait, eh? (Today it was down to $3.74 locally, and since we had an errand in Forest Lake got to compare those prices with $4.24!)
I went to the next town on my list to where the thrift store was supposed to be according to Google. The company had some kind of office building there, no store.
Before I left the area, I decided to check out an old outlet center. They'd failed years ago but I just heard it was bought out and new stores were going in. Maybe a furniture outlet store? But once I got there the filling-in part was still somebody's fantasy. As I did a turn in the parking lot I found my thrift store across the parking lot and decidedly doing a good bit of business. In I went.
They had few chairs in the furniture area. It was becoming a familiar story. Lots of dressers, tables, book stands, magazine racks, etc. As I turned towards the door to leave, there on the other side of it was a seating group: sofas, loveseats, upholstered chairs. One was definitely a recliner, the tan twin to the blue monster from yesterday. Including the low seat. I sat in the chair next to it, thinking it might be suitable if I didn't absolutely have to have a recliner. As I sat, however, I happened to push against the arms and lo! a footrest popped up and the back went down slightly. Comfy! Light weight. Dark orange paisley but who'd notice or care in the corner of the room. All we needed was a comfy place to read in a quiet corner under a lamp where we didn't have to fight to concentrate while somebody else's most annoying choice of TV played because this was in a different room, two closed doors away. Decision made!
Almost. Where was the price tag? I circled that chair, didn't fine one. Was it actually still for sale? I walked up to the checkout gal, and when she finished her current customer, asked what she knew about the chair. After a little consultation with another employee, they both decided some customer in the store still shopping must have pulled the price tag off so they could buy it. After some thought, I asked if they had a P.A. system and could inquire if anybody was carrying the tag so I'd know for sure. Regretfully, no. But I could wait in a row of wooden chairs near the counter and see if anybody came up to purchase it. So I did. Wait. And wait some more. After most everybody who'd been in the store ahead of me had made their purchases and left, a third employee came out from the back room and started training somebody new. Deciding she was somebody who knew stuff, I asked if I could interrupt her for a second. Apparently customers rank higher than employees, lucky me. I showed her the chair, she looked through her book of items sold and to be picked up, and finding nothing, walked with me over to the chair. After poking around a bit, she produced the price tag. It wasn't sold!
Two minutes later it was. I even got a senior discount. There was no offer of helping me get it into the hatchback, however, so I made arrangements to have it held for a few hours. I'd return with Paul after work, along with some kind of a tie down. I was sure some of that chair would be hanging out the back for its trip home. On my way back home for lunch I hit the local hardware store for a tie-down. One of the things I love about these small towns is when you walk into the hardware store, somebody - well everybody - knows exactly what you need and where to find it, and can answer any other questions you have. I left with a ratchet strap 15 feet long and with two hooks rather than just tying one of the ends, the way a slightly cheaper one came.
Soon as Paul came in the door I pounced. He was willing, but we spent about 10 minutes first making sure we had the tools we needed to unpack the strap (yes, tools were needed) and fit it together, and that he knew how to ratchet it tight. We arrived well before the place closed, got the chair loaded in a way that the hatch door only hung open about 4 inches, secured everything, and headed home. With a little help he got it out of the car and into the bedroom.
Turns out Steve loves paisley! And dark orange! And the chair. It's comfortable for him, and supportive enough that he can easily exit it. The two days were worth while.
Late last night there were severe weather and tornado warnings on TV for two counties to the north of us as a storm passed through both on its way southeast. Just before bedtime I took the dog out for her final duty call. As I neared the end of the driveway I noticed an astounding light show to the northeast from the storm. I asked Steve if he wanted to see it, and helped give him a steadying hand added to his support from his cane to the end of the driveway. It's needed because tree roots have left a pattern of ridges under the pavement and more than his cane is needed to navigate it, especially at night. The first step outside was a slap of hot and very muggy air compared to the house. While we watched we discussed the lack of a suitable camera to take some timed open shutter shots of the display so we could get several strikes in a single photo.
Then I asked Paul if he had about three minutes to see something spectacular, so he came out as well. The lightning in that distant cloud system never did stop, anything from a glow dancing through near and farther clouds, to jagged streaks from closer strikes. Paul commented it reminded him of some place in Africa he'd heard about that had the most lightning of any place on the planet, where this kind of storm was almost constant. As we returned to the house, I informed him this show was his reward for helping with the chair. He chuckled on his way inside, back into the AC.
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