It occurred to me the other day that I have sat in the same spot at the dinner table for decades. Considering the house we now own is the house I grew up in, that spot is my spot.

After high school, I lived away for quite a few years, but every time I returned home, that’s where I sat. Once my husband and I bought the house and moved in, nothing changed.

I guess we’re all creatures of habit, but it simply feels weird to sit anywhere else.

Sure, the chair and table have changed –as have the people who sit around it –but that spot is my spot.

So move.

Elsewhere in the house, there are chairs I never, ever sit in. Why would I, when I have claimed the south end of the living room sofa as my own?

When you’re in school, teachers assign you a seat. When you’re an adult, you assign yourself.

We’re not talking about Frasier’s father and his ratty duct-taped chair on the old sitcom.

For me, it’s not so much the chair as it is the spot –and the view from that spot.

At my end of the sofa, I can see out the front window as well as the side and back ones. I like to keep an eye on things. The table at my side is perfect for my book and coffee cup. The best is when my daughter snuggles up right next to me.

Yet some of my favorite seats have not always been all that comfortable – to some people, anyway.

I prefer to sit on the patio step during the summer months rather than the cushy love seat. I always have liked the concrete front porch step, too.

Frequent visitors tend to pick out their favorite spots as well.

I got a rise out of my very good friend earlier this fall when I told her that one of our daughter’s friends had discovered the very same spot on a corner of the counter top where she, throughout our middle and high school years, used to sit.

But that’s my spot! she yelled.

Was I allowed to sit on the counter? I’m not sure. But my friend was.

These days, my mother always sits in the same chair in the living room, the one she feels is best for doing crossword puzzles and dispensing advice. In the summer, her spot is on the big white wicker rocker outdoors.

At her house, she and I always sit in the same chairs during visits.

My daughter caught onto this at a very young age. As a joke, she would run ahead of us into the living room and slip into one of our chairs and try very hard to ignore us –and our glares.

“Get out of my chair, please,” I would say.

Silence.

“Please remove yourself from my chair,” I would repeat. “It’s my chair!” she would say, ignoring the nearby child-size chair my mother had bought for her.

There are times when only tickling is effective.

Now with the holidays approaching, guests and where to put them become a challenge in many households.

Do you assign seats at the dinner table, or just wing it?

Do you borrow some folding chairs?

Do you remind yourself that Aunt So-and-so likes a pillow behind her back, while your left-handed cousin simply must sit at an end?

And if for one day you must give up your own chair, so be it.