My mother was on the phone. And she was frantic.

"Did you move the chair?!" she asked. "Did you move the chair?!"

I had no idea what she was talking about.

"The chair?" I asked. "What chair?"

"Grandma's chair. Did you move the chair?!"

I don't remember exactly how my maternal grandmother ended up with the coveted 'captain's' chair at our dining room table. It was just her seat. On special occasions, my mom would sit at one end of our dining room table, nearest to the kitchen. And my grandmother would sit directly across from her daughter. In her chair.

At the head.

Even though it wasn't her house.

And my parents were very much married.

Gram's joke was her chair was the only one with arms. Consequently, she had to sit there, so she wouldn't fall out. Everyone knew better than to issue a challenge.

My grandmother passed in September, 2000, at a spry 91 years old. And before the holiday season began, she apparently took it upon herself to do a bit of redecorating. Physically and metaphorically.

One day, Gram's armed chair made its way to where my mother sits. And no. I didn't move it.

But I've got a pretty good guess on who did.