Papasan

"In my father's house are many mansions."

It has always been one of favorite lines in scripture. When I was still a child, I found myself hearing that line wondering "aren't mansions bigger than houses? How does that work?" I've given up trying to figure it out, as has (so far as I can tell) modern translators who reduce the magnificence considerably to make heaven sound like a boarding house or condo development: "in my father's house are many rooms."

My daughter, however, can say "in my father's house are many chairs . . . and two of them are mine."

The first of these is a large overstuffed turquoise armchair in the living room. It used to belong to my father. When my daughter was young and we would visit, she would curl up in the chair with her feet one arm and her head on the other, and eventually fall asleep, listening to adults talk. In his will, my father left the chair to me to keep until Carolyn was ready to claim it, so it is an upholstered trust in my possession.

The second of these chairs--in the loft--is a papasan. A friend of mine had one of these chairs, and in early adolescence, Carolyn found the shape again the perfect size for curling up and listening to the verge of sleep. Seeing--and hearing--how much she enjoyed the chair, I bought her one for Christmas one year. It, too, remains in my house for safekeeping, pending it being re-claimed.

When Shiva first arrived in my house, he took greater comfort in the downstairs than the upstairs. And his most favorite resting place was the overstuffed armchair, doubtless because he knew it so well from my father's house. But these days, he also spends many hours upstairs, and in the loft, his new favorite place is the papasan.