In the end, it was just a chair.
But, for the better part of the past 20-plus years, it was at the center of my digital world. It wasn’t a particularly handsome chair, with its odd burgundy-colored cloth upholstery, but I found it a comfortable place to park myself while I pecked away at a keyboard.
I don’t remember where or exactly when I bought it, but it must have been around the time I bought my first “real” computer, an IBM PC with an optional 20-megabyte hard drive, in the late 1980s. It was on this computer that I wrote my book, “The Day the Music Died.” In those pre-Windows and pre-Internet days, the computer was relegated to the basement where I was afforded the solace of a quiet area that was well-suited to conducting phone interviews and writing.
It was around that time that I bought the computer desk and hutch that I still use today. I suspect the chair arrived at the same time.
Over the years, the IBM was replaced by a succession of computers – Compaq, Gateway, Dell and Apple – and the basement office was relocated to what had been the domain of our family’s then-budding astrophysicist for many years. Although the computer desk made the move, the old burgundy chair was replaced by a sleek leather job.
In recent months, however, the burgundy chair was reunited with one of the older computers as a makeshift recording studio was created in the basement for the purpose of digitizing music from records and cassettes. This arrangement was humming along quite smoothly until earlier this week when a bracket snapped, transforming the chair from a comfortably functional piece of furniture to an uncontrollable flopping monstrosity.
My first reaction, of course, was to replace it. A suitable replacement could likely be found for under $100, a reasonable sum. But, since I am in downsizing mode, I backed off that initial reaction, realizing that a replacement chair could be a complication if we were to move where a basement studio is impractical or even impossible.
Instead, I moved a dining room chair that had been sitting unused in a guest bedroom into the basement, stacked some towels and a cushion on the seat, and went back to work on the digitization project. It’s not as comfortable, certainly, but is adequate for the job.
But, for the better part of the past 20-plus years, it was at the center of my digital world. It wasn’t a particularly handsome chair, with its odd burgundy-colored cloth upholstery, but I found it a comfortable place to park myself while I pecked away at a keyboard.
I don’t remember where or exactly when I bought it, but it must have been around the time I bought my first “real” computer, an IBM PC with an optional 20-megabyte hard drive, in the late 1980s. It was on this computer that I wrote my book, “The Day the Music Died.” In those pre-Windows and pre-Internet days, the computer was relegated to the basement where I was afforded the solace of a quiet area that was well-suited to conducting phone interviews and writing.
It was around that time that I bought the computer desk and hutch that I still use today. I suspect the chair arrived at the same time.
Over the years, the IBM was replaced by a succession of computers – Compaq, Gateway, Dell and Apple – and the basement office was relocated to what had been the domain of our family’s then-budding astrophysicist for many years. Although the computer desk made the move, the old burgundy chair was replaced by a sleek leather job.
In recent months, however, the burgundy chair was reunited with one of the older computers as a makeshift recording studio was created in the basement for the purpose of digitizing music from records and cassettes. This arrangement was humming along quite smoothly until earlier this week when a bracket snapped, transforming the chair from a comfortably functional piece of furniture to an uncontrollable flopping monstrosity.
My first reaction, of course, was to replace it. A suitable replacement could likely be found for under $100, a reasonable sum. But, since I am in downsizing mode, I backed off that initial reaction, realizing that a replacement chair could be a complication if we were to move where a basement studio is impractical or even impossible.
Instead, I moved a dining room chair that had been sitting unused in a guest bedroom into the basement, stacked some towels and a cushion on the seat, and went back to work on the digitization project. It’s not as comfortable, certainly, but is adequate for the job.
Linda thinks I should just get a comfortable replacement but so far I’m sticking by my decision. Unless I’m persuaded otherwise by strain or pain, I can revel in the fact that I’ve successfully eliminated a sizable piece of furniture from the household inventory.
Larry Lehmer is a personal historian and chief legacy planner at When Words Matter in Urbandale, Iowa, where he connects generations through their stories. To learn more, visit his web site, send him an e-mail or follow him on Twitter.
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