“MY” ROCKING CHAIR
I call it “my” rocking chair, but where did it come from?
Twenty five years ago, Zak yanked the steering wheel of his truck and pulled off onto the shoulder. Cameron peered out the passenger window. He turned to Zak with a puzzled grin. They got out to examine the damage.
For several kilometers they had been following an overladen 4 X 4 truck, furniture precariously strapped down with ratchet straps. A rocker was flipped upside down on couches and a table. My son and his roommate had been watching it rock to and fro, and side to side. The bindings loosened until the chair wiggled free, tumbled, ricocheted off the tailgate, skidded on the gravel and bounced into the ditch.
Zak strode through the tall grass in the ditch. Cameron followed. “What’ya gonna do with it?”
“Fix it up and sell it.”
One leg and rocker had splintered on impact and lay in water. The seat was scratched where it had slid over the corner of the tailgate. Zak attempted to lift the chair. The armrest came off in his hand.
“It’s toast!” said Cameron.
Determination and hope gleamed in Zak’s eyes. “No, just broken.”
Meanwhile, far away, I was sheltering a broken woman in Cameron’s unoccupied bedroom. Francine came to my home for Bible Study when she could. We were studying J.I. Packer’s book, Knowing God. Our study time coincided with her children’s piano lessons. Nigel thought he knew where she was. She could take the children to music lessons. That was okay. But Francine sneaked out to find out what God is like, and be with some friends. She always left at 7.55 p.m. to pick up the children. Now Francine was facing a court case. She had thrown a pop can at her husband and he was suing her for abuse. She was sheltering in my house, a recluse, broken.
Zak loaded some of the broken rocker onto his truck. Cameron shook his head, shrugged and picked up the rest.
My husband accompanied Francine to court. She was put on probation. The lawyers, judge and probation officer knew the situation. They did what they could legally to give her courage and minimize her humiliation.
Zak’s glue and screws restored integrity to the rocker. He secured polyester fibrefill and brocade fabric to the scarred seat with upholstery tacks.
Francine applied to work as a Personal Support Worker for a newly-established care home. Brian, a confused, blind resident, began to feel safe and comfortable in his new surroundings with Francine’s support.
A few years later, the rocker held Cameron’s wife as she nursed their newborn baby, but soon the family moved to Brazil. So, the rocker was placed in the master bedroom of Zak’s newly-purchased house and it held his wife as she nursed one new-born baby and then another.
When the time came for us to move, Zak helped relocate our furniture into our new home. Wandering through our newly- acquired house, I walked into our unusually large bathroom. A rocking chair, with open arms, welcomed me to relax by the window overlooking the mountains.
On the other side of the country, Francine had squirreled away a down payment on a charming little, run-down cottage. How she scrubbed, painted and decorated her new home! Her children, however, would not visit. They were enjoying the free living and drinking their father encouraged.
My “new” rocking chair holds me as I chat with my sister, attend online meetings, or rock the latest grandchild. But, I have yanked on the armrest too many times. It wobbles, and now floats free from the seat. I am fond of it, though, and use it even if it is broken. I wonder whether the Diamond Valley Repair Café can fix it.
One night, Francine heard a knock at her door. She peeked through the window. Her daughter, disheveled, distraught, disturbed and desperate stood hunched on the doorstep. Francine embraced Janine, poured coffee and listened.
Maybe it is time to take my rocker apart and let it go to the dump. But I know Ben, and Ben knows and loves wood. I will ask him. He says, “Yes,” takes it and returns it the following week. “My” rocking chair is restored!
by Andrea Kidd
If you enjoy my High Country News submissions, please see my substack for more: andreakidd.substack.com
