Or: The Chair Is Still Here
Last weekend it was spring-cleaning and purging time. This coincided with the final weekend of The Cherry Blossom Festival. A happy coincidence, since it was a rare warm and sunny weekend and people turned out in DROVES to enjoy it.
To help the celebration streets were closed, as was the street access to my neighborhood Goodwill. So I used my little wheeled cart – the one I purchased years ago to take to the grocery store and wheel my supplies home but always forgot about until I was walking home and wished I had remembered. It made the numerous trips to Goodwill a breeze. Zigging through the happy festival goers. Zagging my way home feeling accomplished. I left the cart on the front porch that night.
My front porch is not right there on the street. It is behind a gate. The gate is short and not so threatening. But there is a gate. There are stairs. Not so many but still, there are stairs. And then there is the wall. The wall is not so tall but still it partially hides what is on the front porch.
The next day I went about my business. In and out the front door with that nagging feeling that something was wrong with this picture. Yes. The cart had walked away in the middle of the night.
Over the years I have learned that in the freewheeling commerce of San Francisco, if it can be seen and isn’t tied down it will walk away in the night. Usually to a nearby park where a neighbor may end up purchasing it and putting it in their own home where you will see it and not say anything because you don’t want them to feel bad.
But here’s the thing. Also on the porch was a chair. Now the chair is a folding, card table chair. It has paint splatters on it. It came to my house with the human who needed to sit in it at a sit-down holiday feast where there were more butts than I had chairs. The human went home without the chair. The chair folded and went into a closet. Several attempts to reunite the chair and owner misfired. The earth spun on its axis. The earth looped the sun. Several times. The human lost all memory of the chair. “What chair?” was the last response to the statement gotta return that chair to you.
So now I am miffed. The cart walked but the chair – right next to the cart – stayed. I moved the chair to a place of prominence. Clearly visible from the street. Mornings have dawned bathed in sunshine and hope. I step out onto the front porch and am greeted by the chair. The steadfast chair. Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door – chair. Howdy.
Now I promised I would write about the dog Harry and how to love up The City in the companionship of a Corgi. And that will come. But for now I look down at Harry, lying on my foot and point out, “nice job guarding the cart.” In response he rolls over, clearly pointing out that this belly is not going to rub itself. I am on it.
Photo of what we’re getting Nan for Christmas from China Suppliers
Nanette Bisher is a resident of San Francisco along with Harry and Mitts.
