NO EMPTY CHAIRS

Today Hillary and the girls came for a visit. We didn't do anything outstanding, just visited and I fixed them "Toad in the hole" for dinner. I know, a horrible name and a breakfast food to boot. I loved having them here. They are mine and I am theirs.

When they left I thought, There goes my life. Then I thought, Phil and the other kids and grandkids are my life, too. And then I thought Heavenly father and Jesus are my life too, they were my life first. They are the reason I'm here, with this family that I love so much. They make it all possible.

Standing there in the doorway, waving to them I had the distinct impression--almost words in my mind from Heavenly Father: "Without every one of you my family will be incomplete." It was so strong, this impression, that I told Phil about it. And then I told Hillary, when she called to say she was home. I don't know if either of them understood the significance of what I heard. It IS significant. Each is valuable, wanted and all will be wrong if even one doesn't make it back.

Before my last child was born--she was a late arrival--I was 42--I had no idea she was coming and yet, sometimes, when setting the table I took one too many plates and had to put one back. This happened so often that I deliberately tried to take just the right number but often, there it was, an extra plate. I knew, somehow that the family wasn't complete yet. And now it is. My earthly family.

Take of it what you will. I think "my" thoughts earlier were right. Without every single one of us, there will be a hole in our Heavenly eternal family. And incompleteness. Empty chairs.

Let's have no empty chairs.

THE GARAGE SALE PURCHASE

Yesterday Gilmore Girl and I went to Costco. Well, we started for Costco. We saw a garage sale sign and thought a little detour wouldn't hurt. And then we saw another sign, this time advertising furniture. That won't hurt either, we thought. An hour and a half later (or maybe it was two hours) we left the second one.

I didn't take one stinkin' photo. What is the matter with me? (Don't answer, I don't want to know.)

The people who run the garage sale buy things at other garage sales and refurbish them. They paint most things black, white, red or teal. Really, darling stuff. They hold a garage sale three times a year. The next one will be in October. Watch for it at 56 something something Canyon Road in Provo, Utah. It's almost to the end of Canyon Road, before the Peay Ranch.

I saw a chair I wanted. I sat in it after I tired of waiting for Gilmore Girl. It was comfy. I left it there because I didn't want a divorce have enough chairs in the garage already.


I did make one purchase. Two purchases. Ten cents each.

I am the last of the big time spenders.

We never did make it to Costco. And Gilmore Girl had to do some creative things with a bungee cord to get her sticking-out-of-the-trunk purchases home. Really cute things. Except there was no darlingest-ever chair.

THE GARAGE SALE PURCHASE

Please don't tell Phil as he is still not over the Chair Fairy incident. I know he will love it--once he calms down.

He will calm down. Won't he?

SIX WORDS FOR A BONY BUM

Sitting on a wooden chair? Ouch.

INTERNATIONAL DISTURBED PEOPLE'S DAY

I got an email today from Terri Weidman a totally crazy friend and the subject of the email said "International Disturbed People's Day." Why she thought I would be interested in such an email is beyond my comprehension. So I started plotting revenge thinking about it and decided she just wanted me to get a tiny peek into an alien world that I have no regular contact with. So I put the crazy glue and the chicken pluckers and the electric hand buzzers thoughts of tricking my crazy friend on the back burner and got back to serious business of looking for new educational movies on my queue at Netflix.

I clicked on a movie called "Sherlock Holmes' Smarter Brother" and added it to my queue--the description said things like "...a new level of absurdity"--which I can't even spell, and "literary farce." which sounds pretty much like an oxymoron to me. And since Gene Wilder and Marty Feldman are in it how I could go wrong? I mean, it's no "Gone With the Wind," but the title of that movie raises suspicion on several levels.

Then I see, since I ordered that movie, which Phil will shake his head in dismay watch with lively interest, Netflix recommends several others. Among them is "Twelve Chairs." Now the sound of chairs, and twelve of them, perks me right up.

Phil does not perk up at the word "chairs," having had that encounter with the disobedient wife great bargain hunting wife and her chair purchases. In fact, last week he kept asking, "Can I get rid of the four ugly black chairs in the garage yet?" And, if Kraut and The Soap Queen keep having kids I think we will need the four darling black chairs for family dinners, so I himmed and hawed and said, "Look, a flying saucer," to which he said something about if he knew then what he knows now he would be living in a different state, with a normal woman and an empty garage. He really didn't say that but we've lived together such a long time I can read the thoughts he doesn't have.

I see by reading the blurb about "The Twelve Chairs" that there were jewels hidden in one of them and so you never know, I could be providing a wild and irresponsible nice retirement for the two of us. Besides that. it is directed by Mel Brooks and has Dom DeLouise, two giants of serious movie productions.

Dom once wrote a cookbook called, EAT THIS, IT'LL MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER. I'll bet there are great recipes for cake in there. Now if that won't cure disturbed people, I don't know what will. I should buy a copy for my disturbed friend, Terri my friend for Christmas.

Then, because I might be interested in the "Twelve Chairs" Netflix suggested I might also be interested in "Vincent and Theo," which is the story of Vincent Van Gogh. The final line in the description is, "Vincent's disturbed mental state worsens, and both brothers sink into despair."

Now I ask you, do I seem like a person who wants to watch two brother's sink into despair? If you answered, "yes," then give me your email address and I will forward you an email with the subject "International Disturbed People's Day." It will be helpful to you, I'm sure of it.

And if it's not enough, come on over, we'll pull up a couple of chairs and have a good visit and it will be fun. We'll invite Terri and a couple of other mentally disturbed friends and I'll make cake. It will be Dom's recipe. You'll love it.

PS. Here are the darling black chairs that my equally darling husband is trying to get me to give away.

And these are Mom and Dad's chairs from their chrome kitchen set that is now practically an antique.

And these are the "Chair Fairy" chairs.

And just in case you think I have totally stupid things in the garage well, lookit here. A drawer full of onions and a bike I haven't ridden since 1974--when I was a four-year-old.

And just in case you think all I do are stupid things, like rescue chairs, these are some of the domestic kitchen things I did last week. Of course there is no room for them in the basement because, guess what? I have 12 dining room chairs down there but no table to go with it and no dining room, either.

And yes, Phil is a saint. And I love him.

SIX WORDS FOR CHAIRS THAT STAYED AT THE STORE

I don't have these darling chairs.

THE CHAIR FAIRY WAS OH, SO TEMPTED

The Chair Fairy was oh, so very tempted. She even sat on one. It was just right. Goldilocks would have approved. But, alas, they still live at TJ Maxx.

When Phil was told that four new chairs did not come home to roost he did a little happy dance. He's always demonstrating, in unique ways, his elation at not having new chairs deposited in his garage. He wants the car to reside there this winter. Isn't that silly?

SIX WORDS FOR THE CHAIR FAIRY'S NEW ADDITION

Free splinters for all who sit.

THE CHAIR FAIRY HAS STRUCK AGAIN

The Chair Fairy has struck again. I think she has lowered her standards. Phil may not bother with a rebuttal. He may have a bonfire, instead.

THE CHAIR FAIRY--PHIL'S POINT OF VIEW

I went to the mailbox and on the way back I saw two chairs in front of the garage door. Now whom do they belong to, I wondered. I’ll bet Lynne has something to do with it.

She knew all right. She bought them at a garage sale...oh, excuse me, a trunk sale--at Thanksgiving Point, mind you. As if anything bought at Thanksgiving Point was a good idea. And excuse me again; she said the "Chair Fairy" brought them. Did she think I would be charmed by her winning smile and adolescent cleverness? Not today.

She thought the chairs would be great to add to the garage full of junk we already have. Not today. Not tomorrow, either. Not ever. We need to start getting rid of the junk, not bringing more in. When will I ever convince her of that fact?

So we had a quiet discussion about the off chance that we did not need more junk. She did not think it was a quiet discussion. She said I was yelling. I do not yell. I am focused. Very focused.

Finally, in a pathetic little voice she said she'd give them away. That did it. The pathetic little voice gets me every time. I think she was serious too; she'd give them away.

The chairs went to the garage, next to the four black ones with the rush seats. Who knows when they were added to the junk-filled space that I laughingly call a garage. The chairs do come in handy. Not as handy as six folding chairs would be, six folding chairs that match, but folding chairs would be the sensible thing. No one ever said my wife was sensible.

"Here, son,” I say. “Sit on this chair. It's nice and sturdy."

I see her smile. She thinks she’s won and that I think her chairs are a good thing. I’ll let her keep her illusion. I guess I’ll continue to scrape ice off the windshield all winter while all her chairs—and who knows what else she has squirreled away in the garage--have a nice dry home.

I’ve decided to try and make my mind think that folding chairs are overrated. I might as well as there is another grandbaby on the way and the toddler grandson will have to give up the high chair for a real chair. I have a feeling that Lynne is keeping her eyes open for one—not a sensible folding chair but a sturdy, interesting one that doesn't match any of the six we already have.

I think I'll go take a nap. Or get on the roof and blow something off with the leaf blower. Blowing things off the roof makes me feel like I'm in charge. And the view isn't so bad, either.

THE CHAIR FAIRY

Several years ago, when I was anticipating that we were going to have Thanksgiving dinner here, I went to a Trunk Sale at Thanksgiving Point just to see if they might have something irresistible that I could use. A Trunk Sale is like a Garage Sale but people bring things in their cars and, in some cases, had backed up and opened the trunks to show their wares. We walked around--my daughters and daughters-in-law--and soon I spied something I anticipated we were going to need. Chairs! Sturdy ones.

My daughter's comment, "What will Dad say," deterred me not one bit. I bargained--well, I'd like to say I bargained but in reality I probably just happily paid the price the owners asked. Ten dollars, for two. When we got home and unloaded I put them right against the garage door, out of sight of the front windows.

"What are you going to do about Dad?" Hillary asked.

"After Dad goes to bed I'll sneak them into the back of the garage. When we need them for Thanksgiving he'll be glad."

"Right," Hillary said.

"He will," I said. "He really will."

She just shook her head, got in her car and drove away, waving with a little smirk on her face. A smirk that clearly said she didn't have much faith that her dad was going to be glad. She thought he was going to say something like, "More junk!"

It's not junk, I thought to myself. And he WILL be glad. I know it.

That was the last I thought of the chairs and my clever plan. The next day, when Phil brought in the mail, he also brought in an attitude.

"What is in front of the garage?" he said, in a not-quite-normal voice.

Great, I thought. I forgot all about them. And what a dumb question. Anybody can see they are chairs.

"Chairs."

"I CAN SEE THEY ARE CHAIRS?! AND WHERE DID THE CHAIRS COME FROM?"

"The Chair Fairy brought them." How clever I was to think of such an amusing answer right on the spot. I smiled.

That was a mistake.

"THE CHAIR FAIRY? THE CHAIR FAIRY?! ARE YOU OUT OF YOU BLOOMIN' MIND? WE DON'T NEED MORE JUNK IN THE"--he didn't say a four letter word but I know he wanted to--"GARAGE. WE DON'T NEED MORE STUPID CHAIRS. ARE YOU CRAZY?"

Now how do you answer a question like that? No, not crazy. I am clever and thinking of the future. And besides that, chairs don't have the capacity to be stupid. I thought I might point that out to him but one look at his face made me decide against it. I shrugged. Another mistake.

Have you ever seen someone with fire coming out of their eyes? It's a real experience. Everyone should experience that at least once.

He had a few more choice things to say, but by that time I was overwhelmed by all his non-appreciation of my good bargain and of my clever "chair fairy" comment and all I heard was "BLAH, BLAH, BLAH."

Finally I said--in my most humble voice, "I'll take them back."

Now, I knew I couldn't take them back but I figured I'd find someone to donate them to. Anything to get out of having to hear "blah, blah, blah." And being expected to come up with an answer to, "Was I crazy?" one more time.

Well, the end of the story is that he calmed down--after about three weeks--and the chairs reside in the garage with the other chairs I've bought at garage sales--those I successfully snuck into the garage and could say, "Oh, those chairs? I bought them ages ago." Some times the things you bought "ages ago" deflates the frustration that husbands might have over frivolous purchases. Not that any of my chairs have been frivolous purchases, mind you.

The last time we had a family dinner here I overheard Phil say to one of the boys, "Here, sit on this chair,"--one of the Chair Fairy chairs--"they're nice and sturdy."

I wanted to say something but didn't. No sense in reminding him that I was right and he was wrong. As long as one of us knows it, that's enough.