With chair, it's clear where the blame sits

Whose fault is this?

I tend to blame eBay. I suppose I could blame my wife, since she was away on a trip with her sister, leaving me to my own devices.

But inevitably, I have to take the blame. Or the credit. It’s not clear which at this point.

The trouble started in January when, as I mentioned, my wife was away on a journey with her sister and our niece.

January nights are long and boring when you’re home alone. And the computer’s just sitting there, whispering, “Hey, why don’t you noodle around on the internet? Who knows what you might run into? What’s the worst that could happen?”

OK, it doesn’t really say that out loud.

But the message is unmistakable.

So as the snow fell and darkness blanketed the Midwest like an impenetrable shadow, I found myself on eBay. Or, more accurately, I lost myself on eBay.

I’ve noodled around on the site for years, usually searching for things like old postcards of Redkey or cutlery from the knife factory that used to be not far from the family cabin in New Hampshire. I’ve also searched for Elwood Haynes memorabilia and checked on the works of some Indiana artists I like.

Most of the time, that’s a harmless pursuit. But most of the time my wife is here to tell me to knock it off.

In January, she wasn’t. (No, that doesn’t make it her fault. The blame all goes to me.)

Like my friends Ron Cole and Barry Hudson, I have an interest in Arts and Crafts era furniture. Specifically, things like Morris chairs by manufacturers like Stickley, an upstate New York company whose work still commands top dollar.

Did I need furniture? Of course not.

At our age, my wife and I know our house is full. But we still continue to accumulate odds and ends.

Besides, I told myself, what’s the harm in looking?

(Somebody should be marketing T-shirts at the antique engine show that say, “What’s the harm in looking?” File that business idea for later use.)

So I looked.

And I found.

What did I find? I found an antique Morris chair — a primitive recliner from the 1890s to about 1915 — being sold by some guy in New Hampshire.

It wasn’t a Stickley. I couldn’t have afforded it if it had been.

And it was in pretty rough shape. In other words, it was a project.

The manufacturer was a company called W.H. Gunlocke, which later concentrated on office furniture for banks and law offices.

And I pretty much fell in love with it.

Those who have fallen down the eBay rabbit hole will recognize the dangerous words “or best offer.” That’s where you get in trouble.

Before I knew it, I was making an offer. But the offer was contingent on waiting until the end of July to pick up the chair.

I figured my offer was too low. And I figured the seller didn’t want to hang onto the chair until July.

Wrong on both counts. I had bought an antique chair, sight unseen, in a barn in New Hampshire. And I now had a number of problems.

The first, of course, was how to explain this bit of silliness to my wife. The second was what the heck to do with the chair.

The eBay elves must have been smiling on me. Both problems worked themselves out. My wife fell in love with the chair the same way I did, and we quickly decided that it should stay at the cabin in New Hampshire. It fits there; it doesn’t fit at our house.

So the last week of July, I gave the guy a call and set up a time to pick up the chair. Or, more accurately, the pieces of the chair: The base, the back, the springs, and the steel bar that supports the back in reclining positions.

As I said, it’s a project.

And I only have myself to blame.