Coming Apart

Looking at my blog reminded me of what I wanted to share about selling the Eames chairs.

The guy we sold them to proceeded to take them apart in our play room so he could take the pieces on the subway. (FYI, he had to make 2 trips and had people with him to help.)

Husband was somewhat distressed by the turn of events -- after all, these were authentic Herman Miller Eames lounge chairs that had been lovingly cared for and were in mint condition. To take them apart is something of a sacrilige. But, he made the highest offer, called first once Husband sent out his phone number, and once he gave us the money they were his to do with as he pleased.

But that night, or maybe it was a few nights later I can't remember, I woke up in a panic. What had he done to our chairs? How could he do that? What had we done?

Clearly I was overwhelmed with anxiety, because after an hour or so of insomnia I started to worry about the chirping birds! It was 5 am, so not dawn yet, but (I guess) because of all the streetlights there were a number of birds cheeping away. What are we doing to our world? The birds are screwed up! And the bees, the dying bees!

And then, trying to figure out what specifically I was so anxious about (it's so hard to pick...), I realized that the chairs were a metaphor for ME. Particularly as a wife and of the past 6 years since we had DB:

I had been carefully chosen and lovingly "maintained."
Then systematically dismantled in what felt like an instant.
With no information about how or when I'd be put back together.