It sits within a few feet of where it was placed when it came home new, fresh-out-of-the-box, c. 1942.

After about eight years of ruminating on the matter, I finally took the irreversible plunge to replace the old and faded upholstery, worn through at the arms and oozing stuffing from every orifice. Mice had made a cozy home there, during the years that the house had been unoccupied by humans. I was as torn as the nearly seventy year old original fabric. 

** The draped chair in the background is vintage 1936, awaiting it's turn for restoration. The wooden chair in foreground is one of the original "recliners", adjustable by a wooden peg in the frame. I believe it belonged to my grandfather.

Ultimately, I concluded that the chair was of no value in its dilapidated condition; nobody wanted to sit there. A makeover would give it life.

Having no experience, and no funds in the budget for a professional re-upholstery project, I enlisted the aid of my elderly Aunt Thelma, who is skilled with furniture restoration. Her hands are no longer strong enough to pull the fabric taught; the grunt work would be on me.

It took us many days to complete the fabric work; carefully tracing each piece onto the new fabric as we removed the old; painstakingly matching pattern and grain; lovingly (for the most part), stretching and stapling each section into place. Before we sealed it up, we signed our names and the date inside, for the next upholsterer to find, maybe 50 years from now. The hand-carved wooden trim and feet still await final attachment.

I love this chair! I love the black hairpins we found inside it; left there by the late Widow Coolie, who left this earthly vale in the 1960's.

Whenever I sink into this big comfy chair, I feel embraced by the many people who lived in this old house before it became my gallery. Sweet reverie made all the sweeter by my sense of accomplishment in bringing it back to life, and the time I got to spend working on it with my aunt. I hardly think about the mice, at all.