There are 26 chairs in my living room. Well, 26 seats. Some people are going to have to sit on the couch or the love seat. Others will get one of the folding chairs, my neighbor’s plastic white deck chairs or one of two rocking chairs. I’ll be happy if I get to sit down.
We (okay, I) agreed to host a piano recital at our house today even though other people have nicer houses, or at least, landscaping and window treatments.
I had forgotten that we never replaced the window treatments in the living room after our housewide construction, largely because I had forgotten about the living room. We’d spent so much time in there two summers ago, hiding from contractors and their hammering and their loud power tools that I ditched that room as fast as I could when it was all over.
So when I was setting up the 26 chairs yesterday afternoon, I noticed the big ugly gray metal rods sticking out from atop each of the windows and thought, Gee, it sure would be nice if those were covered in some sort of fabric, preferably to match the couch. And then I peered out the front window at the sparse grass and the hastily placed limestone slabs that make up our walkway and I thought, I wish I hadn’t peered out the window.
Except for this: I know that, years from now, I’m not going to remember any of that or care about any of that when I look at the pictures and the videos of the piano recital we held in our living room in 2009. I’m going to remember when the kids lived at home, their grandparents were still with us and we all looked so much younger.
Also, how I found four Pokemon cards, a broken pencil and a gum wrapper behind the piano before the chairs all filled up.