It’s funny how memory works

Growing up, visiting my grandparents my siblings and I often sat in a purple high-backed chair. That chair occupied an honored space in my grandparents’ living room. When my grandfather decided to move to an independent living apartment, he had to decide which furniture he would take with him. The purple chair did not move with him. That chair held the memory of us along with my cousins scrambling onto it every time we arrived at my grandparents’ home. I later learned that to my parents it was the most uncomfortable and not particularly attractive looking chair, as unique as it was. Fortunately, there are pictures of us kids sitting in the purple chair. While I don’t have the (big) awkward object to provide that memory, the photograph of it does bring a smile to my face when I see the photo of us sitting in the purple high-backed chair.

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