Back in a State of Recline

by admin | September 18, 2026 7:34 am

I bought a new recliner last week. It’s the first one I’ve owned in more than 25 years. My Beautiful Mystery Companion finds this purchase hilarious, mainly because I’ve railed against owning a recliner for as long as she’s known me — more than 18 years. I won’t delve into the domestic details that sparked my decades-long antipathy toward recliners. Buy me a beer sometime, and I’ll tell you in person. (I’m easy that way.)

The recliner is finished in cream-colored corduroy fabric, soft and comfy, with a nifty switch that lifts the footrest. No wooden handles to yank to go airborne. Pushing the footrest back down to get up takes some leg strength. I consider this my nighttime workout, hopping off the recliner to get something to drink or use the bathroom. At my age, it is an endless cycle — sipping and peeing.

This recliner does not have a cup holder. A cup holder in a recliner, much like the one in my truck, would become a resting place for spilled beverages, cracker crumbs, dog hair, and other detritus. I need a cup holder in the truck, spills and crumbs be damned. An ancient metal steamer trunk next to the recliner serves as a sturdy end table that can withstand all food and beverage mishaps.

[1]The new chair does not have the massage feature. I am not a fan of vibrating chairs. They make me pee more often, which is already annoyingly frequent. Comes with being old enough to draw Social Security, I suppose.

Of course, I had to buy a floor lamp to go with the recliner. It remains brutally hot, greatly limiting my outdoor activities. Through bitter experience, I have learned to stop doing hobby-farm chores by 11 a.m. at the latest. Otherwise, I risk passing out while mowing or bushhogging. So I retreat inside to write or research my next book project. After several hours of that, it is time to read for pleasure. I get comfortable in the recliner, the AC cranked down to 74 degrees, a light throw made from old T-shirts across my legs. I turn on the electric fireplace, which glows a realistic orange without actually providing unneeded heat. (It does have a heating element if cooler weather ever arrives.)

I know that is weird, but I find the fake fire comforting. We all have our quirks, though I might have more than the average bear. No matter. I am footing the bill. AEP thanks me for my modest contribution to their net profits.

That recliner must have a secret sleep agent embedded in the fabric. I invariably doze off after about 20 minutes of reading, especially after a morning of physical labor. With mellow jazz playing from the television on the mantle and the fake fire flickering below, the comfort of a quilt: I’m a goner for about 30 minutes. I maintain that one can nap with a clear conscience after bushhogging for a couple of hours.

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Cousins Edward Knabusch and Edwin Shoemaker invented the modern recliner in 1928 and patented it three years later, after holding a naming contest that produced the name La-Z-Boy. Early versions had a separate footrest, or ottoman, similar to the classic Morris chair. That type of chair has a hinged back between wooden arms, with pegs in the back to adjust the angle. I built a Morris chair about 25 years ago, and it sits in our sunroom. It is fine for sitting but not for napping, unless you are Olive the Cat. She is often curled up in it, warmed by sunlight streaming through the windows.

The retractable footrest became part of the La-Z-Boy in 1947, as households began buying televisions. Eating dinner in front of the TV became common, and the recliner quickly became a ubiquitous part of American culture. I grew up in a recliner household. Both my parents had their own recliners, and we three sons were banned from using them, relegating us to the couch or the floor. So far, nobody has tried to sit in my recliner, though Mollie the Maltese enjoys lying on the armrest. Daisy, our Great Pyrenees/Golden Retriever, jumps in alarm every time I raise the footrest.

I am glad to have overcome my earlier recliner trauma and look forward to quiet autumn and winter nights, reading while the fake fireplace blows actual warm air into the living room, and a cold wind howls outside.

A fellow can dream, right?

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