Why is it that as we age, the thoughts of having recliners in the house seem so sublime? I have gone back and forth with the whole recliner thing. I have owned them, hated them, wanted them, gotten rid of them and now have them as part of a couch. I go through stages where the recliner is the only place that I love to sit. Then one day, I go to sit in my familiar friend and it no longer welcomes me as it once did. I guess that the saying is true, that all good things must come to an end. Why are our bodies so fickle?
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