The chair

It’s been a rough couple of weeks since our beloved dog left this earth. We miss her so much that sometimes it’s hard to speak. We’re quieter than usual, staying up later and sleeping longer than we probably should, trying to fill the void of not having her around 24/7.

There were lots of cards, calls, texts and well wishes. (Thank you all.) Lately, we’ve managed a few solitary afternoons sitting on the patio watching birds build nests, along with some visits from supportive friends and family to fill our minds with something other than Madison.

Much to my dismay, grief doesn’t have an expiration date. You can’t toss it in the trash after a few weeks or months. It doesn’t get stale or go bad. We know we need time, and I doubt we’ll ever “get over it.”

Frankly, I don’t want to. She was a part of us for nearly 16 years. Time heals. But the body doesn’t forget. I can see her, smell her and feel her presence. Just wish I could touch her tiny black gumdrop nose again.

To help ease our pain, we moved her bowls from their usual spot in the kitchen, along with the painting of a dog saying, “The service here is soooo slow.” We packed up her pee pads, food, pills and leash. I put her favorite toys in my office. Changed the family room furniture around. Now in the evening, I sit in her chair so I don’t have to not see her lying in it when we’re watching TV.

I remember how deeply sad I was after losing my mother in 2008. And then Dad five months later in spring 2009. They had both lived long lives, but their passing hit me hard – like a “one-two punch” – and it took me many months to process their deaths and even weeks of grief group therapy. (We called ourselves “The Freaks.” Still do. Don’t ask why. Shout out to Dar and Angel.)

So, on the first Sunday in May, Rebecca and I wanted to do something for someone else. What better way to lift our sagging spirits than to spread some goodness and light? Feeling like crap and staying home was not an option, even on this cloudy, drizzly day. No, sir.

Our dear friend Rolande turned 90 in early March. We still had her special gift, waiting to deliver it when the time was right. That time was now.

So, we drove about an hour out to their home, which was built many years ago in the style of a geodesic dome. As in, Buckminster Fuller, world-famous American architect and futurist who developed the design and believed in the philosophy of “doing more with less.”

What gift, you may wonder?

We were bringing our friend a chair. Not just any chair. One that came from a familiar resort that inhabited Anna Maria Island back in the days when Rolande stayed there with her family and friends. When she knew the island like the back of her hand because every day she’d take the trolley a few miles north, hop out and walk back on the beach to the peaceful place that housed this colorful chair.

I failed to mention that she was probably 80 at the time.

Her longtime partner, Margaret, found a magazine from 2007 with a cover story about this once prominent island resort. It described the place better than I ever could. We had stayed there once back in 2015, I think, just before it was sold. Then new owners tore it down to make way for a two-unit luxury condo. A travesty.

Here’s an excerpt from LWR Life‘s article, “Happy Ours” Never Ends:

“There was a time when surfers reigned over the sea and sunbathing beauties ruled the sands of Bradenton Beach, a small beach community on Anna Maria Island. A glimmer of this quaint beach town’s nostalgic culture remains on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico: The Happy Ours Resort.

The resort is a ray of sunshine nestled among the conventional condos that line Gulf Drive. It doesn’t impress every passerby, but the canary-yellow exterior and irresistible Key West/Jimmy Buffet-inspired accents that adorn the resort’s outside walls are just some of the things a true Parrot Head can appreciate.”

The story goes on to say that Happy Ours had four themed units: Surf City, Happy Hour, Changes in Attitudes and Saint Sun Wear. Each with its own outrageous décor including whimsical murals and bold furnishings. No two were the same.

According to the story, the owners wanted guests to always feel peace and serenity from being on the water. No worries, just be happy. Maybe it was the wild colors, like the lime- and pink-colored deck overlooking the turquoise gulf that mesmerized guests into a trance of tranquility.

Or just those crazy, colorful chairs. Like the one we brought to our birthday girl on Sunday.

Long story short (although you know it rarely is), I spotted that chair on the porch of a condo at the same Anna Maria Island complex where we stayed this winter. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Look! It’s one of those chairs from Happy Ours!” I shrieked. Rebecca nearly ran over two innocent pickle ballers walking by.

There it was, sitting outside a first-floor unit. Through divine intervention, (OK, persistence and some dumb luck), our condo guy Dan knew the chair unit’s owner, Christopher and his wife, Irene, who happen to live in the United Kingdom. Turns out, they had bought the chair before Happy Ours sold.

“Make me an offer,” said the “Chairman” in our international email exchange.

I did, explained the heartwarming story about our friend and sealed the deal. Then we put it into our car. (With the help of one lucky pickle baller.)

We figured if that wrought iron/wood-slat chair could survive years of blazing Florida sun, whipping grains of sand and gulf shore winds, then it surely could handle the 1,200-mile ride home to Michigan.

One tough cookie, that chair. Kind of like our friend Rolande.

On Sunday, outside in the light rain, Margaret read our silly little poem – between happy tears, of course. It went something like this:

There once was a chair on a porch by the bay,

Liked it and found its owner in the UK.

“We know of this chair with its Bohemian charm,

Would you sell it to live someplace not quite as warm?”

We brokered a deal, going back and then forth,

Put that chair in our car and schlepped it up north.

That was back in March, and we’ve waited till now,

To gift it, dear queen – with a curtsy and bow!

Puzzled at first, Rolande didn’t know what to say. “This is for me?” she asked.

“Yes, it’s for you. Our queen,” we replied, with giggles.

Grinning ear to ear, Her Majesty plopped down in it. Still suits her after all of these years. She even found the perfect spot for her throne amid this magical garden of trees.

Margaret texted this morning to say that they smile every time they look out the window. We sure hope the chair continues to bring goodness and light to her and our queen.

As for her two subjects? After that curtsy and bow, they could use both some Tylenol.