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May 19, 2026
There is a chair in my home that I return to, again and again.
Not because it is perfect.
In fact, the cushion is beginning to show its wear.
But I honestly don’t mind.
Because somehow, this chair has become more than a chair to us.
It holds memory.
And comfort.
And the people — and little dog — we love.
This was my mum’s chair.
Years ago, our little Shih Tzu immediately decided it belonged to her as well.
She would jump right up whenever she had the chance as if she was a princess on her royal chair. Before long we all started calling it the Princess chair.
The name stayed.
Even now, our little fur baby still takes her turn there throughout the day — curled up as if she has always known it was hers too.
And honestly, maybe it is.
When my mum passed, I knew this chair was coming with me.
Not because it was valuable.
Not because it matched perfectly.
But because some things carry presence with them.
This chair had held so many quiet afternoons.
So many cups of tea.
So many ordinary moments that now feel precious.
And somehow, bringing it into our home felt like bringing a small piece of her with us as well.
Many afternoons, I make tea and sit here with my mum’s cup in my hands.
It has quietly become part of my rhythm throughout the week.
Nothing elaborate.
Just tea.
A familiar chair.
A few quiet moments to sit.
Sometimes I think what we inherit aren’t just objects.
Sometimes it’s rhythm.
And comfort.
And the simple ways someone taught us to slow down.
Paul loves this chair too.
That may be one of my favorite things about it — how it continues to be shared.
My mum sat here.
Now I sit here with my tea.
Paul settles into it throughout the day.
And our little Shih Tzu still believes it belongs to her most of all.
The cushion is worn now.
The fabric carries years of living.
But honestly, I think that is part of its beauty.
We talk often about creating beautiful homes.
But I’m not sure beauty always comes from buying something new.
Sometimes it comes from keeping the things that already hold meaning.
The slightly worn chair.
The familiar teacup.
The corners that have quietly held life for years.
These are the things that begin to tell our story.
Over time, a few simple things have gathered around this chair — not to make the space look perfect, but to make it feel lived in and welcoming.
A soft throw nearby.
A warm lamp in the evenings.
And a small table for tea that carries its own family story.
The little table beside the chair was Paul’s mother’s, and she had received it from her mother before her.
I love that.
So much of this corner has been handed down quietly through generations — not as antiques or treasures, but simply as pieces of everyday life that were loved and used well.
Nothing elaborate.
Just familiar things carrying memory forward in small and gentle ways.
Maybe you have something like this too.
A chair.
A cup.
A small corner that carries more meaning than anyone else would ever notice.
You don’t need to replace everything to create a beautiful home.
Sometimes the most meaningful spaces are the ones already waiting for us.
This chair will probably continue to wear with time.
And I know I’ll continue loving it anyway.
Because somehow, no matter the season or the stage of life, I always find my way back to it.
