Vacation Romance

I suppose a lot of relationships start this way nowadays. You see a picture online and you think, “Ah, not my type.” Nothing that’s a real turnoff, but nothing like anything you’ve had before, and there’s something to be said for the tried and true, or the cultural norm. Then you meet, and you’re still not sure. But you spend time together, some intimacy develops; you take the plunge and put your butt down into a welcoming embrace.

And you’re in love.

At least that’s how it happened to me on this trip, in the little casita I’ve called home for almost a week. Meet my new true love, the chair where I’ve crafted my creative endeavors.

It's so true - when you least expect it, love hits.

I guess it’s not really a chair; I’m not sure what to call it. The back half is an overstuffed chair, but the front, fully attached, is like a recliner, or an ottoman, but not. Together, the two halves are a writer’s heaven.

For years, when I’ve written my plays, I’ve done the first draft in long hand, preferably in the most comfortable chair I could find. That’s in contrast to my paying gigs and the assorted musings here at C?WC?, for which I just crank out the verbiage right at the computer. Until the IMD got into full gear, I used the green recliner we had for many years, probably for almost the whole marriage. But since it was really “her” chair, she got custody; I did not contest, especially since she wanted so little of what we had once shared.

To replace the recliner, I moved over the rocking chair that sat in the far corner of the living room. It’s a fine chair in its own right, but I keep it more for sentimental reasons than for comfort (it was my grandparents’, as is so much of the furniture I own). Especially when I’m writing. The subtle movement so soothing to the parent holding a child isn’t the best when trying to write – especially when you start off with penmanship as bad as mine.

But this Santa Fe chair, this mestizo beauty (how fitting in this tricultural land!), its charms are endless. Wide and long, I can easily stretch out, my feet completely supported, my arms given the berth to write freely. And if I need to spread out books or look up something on the laptop, my new love easily accommodates them within its expanse.

The chair is not perfect; what partner is? Even in the glow of new-found ecstasy I can’t overlook the leather upholstery. And of course, there’s no way I can bring my find home with me. Tomorrow, I set off for Taos, probably never to return to my beloved. And it will remain, ready to welcome the next weary traveler or even, perhaps, a writer who seeks a comfortable spot to create. I am not jealous or wistful. Those are simply our fates.

I can look for something like this when I get home, I know (sans leather, of course). But it just won’t be the same. We can never recreate the first time, can we? Especially when the first time is this good. Farewell, my love. Adios.


~ by mburgan on November 10, 2010.

2 Responses to “Vacation Romance”

  1. Hahahaha, you tricked me.

  2. Sure…

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