Doug Pugh

I have progressed through chairs, stood on chairs, hidden behind chairs, rocked in chairs, and been where I wish I had a chair.

I have sat in desk/chair combinations, library chairs, office chairs, and on a stump in the woods I was pleased to call a chair.

I’ve sat in seminar chairs, been the chair, peddled an exercycle chair, and lounged in cushy chairs. I have reclined in reclining chairs, sat in old chairs, new chairs, tractor chairs, and, for a spell, occupied one of those therapeutic chairs with an on-off switch.

I’ve been in live theatre chairs and movie chairs, in chairs that made me laugh, those that held me while I cried, and in chairs so calm I could listen to the music. I’ve been subjected to dentists’ chairs and hospital waiting room chairs. Occasionally, I still sit in a barber’s chair, though with diminished reason for being there.

My son, Matthew, played first-chair clarinet, my son Jonathan can play the piano, avoiding a chair by using a bench. So far, I’ve avoided a wheelchair, but I’ve been in a teacher’s chair and a witness chair, sat in counsel’s chair, experienced the perspective of a judge’s chair, and, though I sat in a juror’s chair, I have never served there.

Some who occupy our highest judicial chairs lack skills in chair frame construction, but they’re not the only ones in high chairs who shouldn’t be there. Chaise lounges, occupied dispassionately, might improve their meditative capacity.

If necessary, we can change chairs or remove a chair. If you’re like me, you lug the old chair down the basement. If you’re like my wife, you have me take it out to the curb, where someone can pick it up and make it their chair.

It’s best always to have a chair, even one you occasionally fall out of. Not having a chair is to be nowhere.

I have found tranquility in a well-worn chair drawn up to a kitchen table filled with people I love. Sitting there, consuming pickled bologna, sampling my aunt’s “not a prize winner in the lot” dill pickles, seeking relief with Saltine crackers — crackers making it possible to consume yet another pickle, allowing the flavor of contentment to linger.

Perhaps, someday, someone will design a chair we can all be comfortable in, one that fits us to a level of accommodation. One, we can pull up to a communal table to enjoy not only pickled bologna, dill pickles, and crackers but also a fusion menu of culinary and cultural traditions, religious beliefs, and scientific facts, celebrating our diversity, equality, and mysteries of reality.

Want a simple life? Get a simple chair, one that makes you sit up straight. If you feel the need, put a cushion on it.

If it’s power you want, opt for one of those wing-back chairs designed to channel a personality’s flow, acquire a billionaire’s chair, run for a political chair, or vote for a congressional chair holder who, while installed there, will aid you by denying others.

But know this: on a cloudless night, in any old chair tilted back, you’ll gain a view of the infinity you are a part of.

This holiday weekend, let’s adjust the cushions on our chairs, open a jar of pickles, unwrap a line of Saltines, spear a hunk of pickled bologna, and mix those offerings with measures of diversity’s food and flavor for July 4th is a celebration of our independence, a time when we honor the words in the preamble of the document that proclaimed it:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” — United States Declaration of Independence

Today is my birthday. As I enter my 83rd year, I hope to be sustained by more interesting chairs.

Doug Pugh’s “Vignettes” runs monthly. He can be reached at pughda@gmail.com.