The Crankee Yankee brought home my grandmother’s rocking chair from our storage unit yesterday. It is now on our front porch where I can sit and rock to my heart’s content. How many times did I see my grandmother gently rocking in it while telling me stories of her family from Ireland. On Christmas morning, she would sit and rock, smiling as everyone opened their gifts.
In the warm summer nights when I would stay overnight with my grandparents, my grandfather would have put my grandmother’s rocking chair out on the porch. While she rocked and my grandfather read the paper in the early summer evening, we all listened to the frogs in the lake, singing their “chuga-rum, chuga-rum” songs.
When I got too tired and went up to bed, I could still hear the frogs and my grandparents talking about their day. I could also still hear the faint creak of the rocking chair. It all put me to sleep.
So now, many, many years ago it is lovely to have my grandmother’s rocking chair on our porch, where I can rock to my heart’s delight. It’s funny, isn’t it, when we end up with cherished things that belonged to our relatives. We remember the people who loved and used this and that. Just sitting in that lovely old rocker takes me back to my growing up years.
There is something both soothing and comforting softly rocking away; not only do you remember who once owned the rocking chair, but also marvel at how peaceful it is. In this hurry-hurry-up world we live in, a few minutes in a comfortable rocking chair is a pure pleasure.