I have a reclining chair that I really
appreciate. It’s getting old and a little worn, a little dirty, but it’s very
comfortable. My youngest son who also lives with us has a reclining chair of
his own. My wife has a love seat that reclines and we very specifically bought it
for her when she was having breast cancer surgery because it is electronic so she
could recline without having to use her arms that could have agitated her
surgery site. Reclining chairs bring all sorts of comfort to us and we use them
so frequently that it seems like they are extensions of ourselves. Needless to
say, I love reclining chairs.
There’s nothing more comforting to me than to
sit in a reclining chair in the afternoon, perhaps after doing some yard work
or going for a run. I will sit there in comfort, recline, and sometimes take a
nap. It’s as easy to sleep in as my bed. In fact, when I had my heart surgery I
did sleep in it at night for nearly a week. I was so doped up that I slept in
it most of the days as well. I can sleep in any easy chair, there’s no doubt—and
I often do—but they can’t support your lower back like a bed or recliner, so
getting a good nap in a non-reclining easy chair just doesn’t work as well.
My recliner is where I go to other worlds when
I watch television or movies or read a book. I learn the news of the world in
that chair as I read a newspaper or news magazine or watch the news or listen
to news on the radio.
To me, a recliner represents a home. That
recliner can be the comfort of anyone’s home and my recliner is particular to
my home. Home is a place of comfort, a place of solace, a place of sanctity to
the individual. The ultimate place of comfort and solace and sanctity in one’s
own home varies with the individual, but for me it is that reclining chair.
That’s why I love my recliner.
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