Movin' On with Nellie: Easy chairs are not so easy after all

For Christmas, my son purchased a “big boy” easy chair from a local discount furniture store.  It had been on my wish list for a long time. So, I was smiling broadly when he brought it in and assembled it. The Christmas lights were blinking, the teddy bears were all snug in the limbs of the tree, and my dogs were nibbling on their SMART veggie bones.

I found it hard to contain my excitement as he maneuvered the pieces together. “Thank you, thank you,” I sang out loud. When it was all together, I snuggled into it like it was my personal nest; and best of all, it was wide enough that it held me and my dog. But most of the time, it’s me and my laptop in the chair that faces my tv. 

In my chair, I enjoy the sunrise through the east windows and the birds bobbing in and out of the frame as they eat from the feeder. When my son visits, I can look him square in the eyes and listen to his day; when my friends, visit they sit where we can talk and talk. I can FaceTime from my chair as easy as on my deck. The chair has been like a comfy blanket that makes everything ok. 

Watching the Young and the Restless, Murder She Wrote, and the CBS Evening News are important. But most important is pressing the leaf to close as I reach for my dog’s ball. I can roll it to the back door from my chair and wait for him to drop the ball by my foot and then roll it out again.

After five months, the mechanism that opens and shuts the chair quit working unexpectedly. My son turned the chair upside down to find what had happened. He found that a spring on one side had broken. He promptly took the part into the store to have them order a replacement. It’s been almost three months and still no word from the discount store.

He has looked at “big boy” again this week but still no part has come in from the furniture store. He is thinking of loading the chair into his vehicle and delivering it to the store for repair. I told him that I would be fine with that. I also think the chair should be named: “Bad Boy.”

I’ve become leery of the chair. I have to pose like the macho guys on that CAPTAIN Morgan booze commercial with a leg lifted to press down the padded arm that should be snug as a bug against the chair, but instead is like a wing in the air. I have tripped on it. I have fallen into the chair. At my age, I’m in danger of breaking a hip or hitting my head. It wouldn’t be hard to break a wrist or ankle either. In some ways, it reminds me of the scene in the original Home Alone, when the boy is staring down the heater in the basement like it is a monster. 

Sometimes I back up in small but strong steps into the wing to get it to fold down so that I can plop into the seat. If it weren’t for needing to keep my legs up, I wouldn’t be inclined to keep the recliner. I sure wish that discount furniture store would do the right thing and fix the chair.

—Nelda Curtiss is a retired college professor who enjoys writing and fine arts. Contact her at [email protected]