We went into a consignment store the other day, and there it was...a little maple rocking chair. Perfect. We snapped it up.
When I was pregnant with Serena, we drove from San Francisco to Kansas, Iowa, Missouri, Texas and Arizona to visit family. While we were visiting, we looked for a rocking chair. I love to rock, and wanted to rock my baby. In Iowa, uncles and aunts helped us look. Then Uncle Myron asked if I wanted one they had that he'd refinished. It was perfect. He called it a nursing rocker, low and no arms. As he said, "it has been chewed by a dog on one of the rockers, so you don't have to worry about the baby damaging it."
So we stuffed the chair in the back of our tiny Datsun and drove home with it. The back of the rocker was over the cooler in the back seat, so every time we needed in the cooler we had to tip the rocker.
That rocker rocked both children, and became a knitting rocker. No arms, which was perfect for this body's repetitive stress problems.
Then Serena moved out and took the chair with her. I missed it. She set it so she can look out over her view and rock quietly with a cat in her lap.
So now I have a new to me rocker that is just right for me. It is set so I can look out over OUR view -- withOUT a cat in my lap. For whatever reason, I have been able to start knitting again. Perhaps it is the rocker? Whatever, my Plisse is starting to grow a bit.
Just for fun Howard asked her if she would trade rockers. Her eyebrows went up all the way and she said, "but it is MINE!" Which is almost word for word what I'd predicted. We all laughed.