Yesterday, after being bit by the yard sale bug I found myself in a consignment shop.  I was certain I would find nothing to compare to my great scores of the day: a big old box fan in eggshell blue purchased from a lovely old man with a gold stud in one ear, a funky piece of fabric from a young girl helping her grandmother clear out some items, and some giveaways from a neighbor friend of my sister's.  But I was wrong.  I found a rocking chair with such great bones, I figured it would be uncomfortable and sat in it.  I figured wrong and was claimed.

I was never a huge fan of rocking chairs until yesterday.  I will try them out occasionally, but I'm not long impressed.  I did find a really great chippy pair at a friend's shop not too long ago and was sorely tempted.  I don't much regret the miss - it simply wasn't mean to be.  But this chair was different.  My first walk-away from it had me feeling I'd forgotten something important.  The second look revealed lifting laminate and that would have been the death knell except I sat in it.  The arms of the chair had been held, the rockers had been rocked and I was sold at first creak.  I've never sat in so comfortable a rocking chair.  I felt a lightness as I listened to every dry creak and knew it was mine as I imagined all the imagining one could do in a chair such as this.