The Red Chair

So my neighbours moved in downstairs last summer. A couple and their daughter. I'll say it, they're a little weird. But anyway, being on the ground floor, they kind of adopted our back lot behind the apartment complex and made it into a little gathering area. It's great - a hammock, a small table with chairs and some stumps, as well as a small basil and mint garden for all the residents to share. Someone else even brought down their grill and donated it to the cause - getting to know your neighbour.

Every morning I would make my coffee and stare out the back window at the set-up below. I would occasionally see the mother playing tea with her daughter, and would at times be delighted by the sounds of childrens' voices giddy in whatever play was at hand. While I was pregnant, I would conjure up images of enjoying days such as these with my soon-to-be-born son, and when said son did arrive, the hammock played a vital role in calming him down from time to time.

Then one day I was told that our couple had separated. He hadn't been seen in awhile, and we'd occasionally see the daughter and mother walking around the neighbourhood. The two of them would continue to have friends visit and play behind the building, as well as have lunch on the table and chairs.

As fall hit, I noticed that one of the chairs was red. What a sight it was, a full carpet of browns and yellows - the leaves scattered below the trees - and this one red chair. I was tickled, and delighted in the idea of a winter snow blanketing the ground and there, sitting steadfast, would be the red chair. I decided I would wait to take a picture until that time.

This past week we were blessed with a glorious snow which fell lightly and peacefully all day Monday. Roads, sidewalks, trees - all were coated with huge flakes, and the world turned white. Everett and I wanted to take a drive into the area nearby to look at the sprawling estates and farms to see the tranquility offered by acres of untouched snow. I drew excited, and grabbed the camera to finally take a picture of my red chair!

But it was gone.

In the month of January I have transitioned into a full-time working mom, leaving sometimes before light even touched my window, and returning after it had withdrawn from our sky. I never noticed that the squeaky voice that peppered the sound below me had disappeared, and that a male voice had taken over. It was frigid... of course there were no tea parties - but there was no one to participate, either.

I have been struggling with the message that I am to receive on this one... for "good things come to those who wait" isn't quite fitting the bill. I miss my red chair. I never got my photo. I can still picture it in my head, often like Steven Speilberg saw that little girl in the red dress in Schindler's List - the one colour of hope in a very black and white world.

Ah, perhaps I'm not supposed to learn a thing... maybe I'm just supposed to have this one reminder of the seasons, and the eternal lesson of mother nature - that everything does indeed ebb and flow, and things change, go away, and morph right before your eyes, usually when you least expect them to.

Cheers to that.

pax