The armchair

Carolyn Bergen

When my husband asked me to marry him eight years ago, I said, "Yes", but joked, "only if we don't have to have that ugly armchair in our living room." It had been used when he had purchased it, and it was known (not so fondly) as part of the "colour-blind bachelor collection". He reluctantly agreed to not have it in our living room, but over the years, no matter where we went, that armchair followed. Its beige-and-brown-plaid pattern could always be seen in one corner or another. My efforts to suggest its demise gradually became more and more feeble as I resigned myself to its presence.

A burst of creativity hit me one day, and I purchased fabric to reupholster the armchair. I armed myself with some preliminary knowledge and went to work. The fastest way to put the new cream-coloured fabric on would have been to put it right on top of the old. However, the idea could not be seriously entertained, as the old tweed would age the new fabric prematurely and might even show through.

I was so eager to have the chair turn from an eyesore into a thing of beauty that I was tempted to quickly rip the old fabric off. But the library book clearly stated that it had to be removed carefully, as it was in the removal of the old that I would discover the secrets of how to correctly apply the new. The pieces, as they were removed one by one, demonstrated how I should carefully fold, staple, tuck and tack the new. After they were removed, they served one last purpose before they were thrown into the garbage: They became the patterns for cutting out the new pieces.

And so, before I could drape the chair frame in its new, much prettier fabric, I had to begin the arduous process of removing the ugly, old, coarse weave. That long tedious process involved removing all the old staples one by one.

During those hours of pulling and prying, I had a lot of time to think. I began to compare my reupholstering adventure to the process individuals and families embark on when they attempt to deal with hidden hurts from their past. Some try to bury the old under the new, only to have the hurt rub through or have the new fray at the edges because of fits of anger. Others believe that a quick prayer or reading a pop psychology book will "fix" their problems instantly. However, in these cases, the old patterns, secrets and stories aren't removed with the dignity that allows for an examination of the hurt, anger and pain. The old must be discarded only after it has been carefully and deliberately examined.

With careful, albeit at times painful scrutiny of the ugly fabric of our memories, we can more completely remove their impact on our lives, and will be better able to fit new patterns of relating to others. It took me longer to remove the old upholstery than to apply the new material. However, the finished chair (which, I modestly mention, looks pretty good) could not look as it does without the burdensome process of taking off the old. How wise an investment of time and energy it is to remove the ugliness of the past in order to allow it to be replaced with a new beauty.

Carolyn O. Bergen is a member of Fort Garry MB Church, Winnipeg

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