Sometimes we hold on to things because of the memories attached. We make it fit appropriately in our current lives, our updated styles, our desire to have everything in it's designated spot. When Mom passed in May, I latched on to an ugly chartreuse armchair which had been patched but still showed worn areas on the arms. It was not one of those big over-stuffed jobs, just a tidy little rocking swivel chair that always sat beside the fireplace at Mom's. But where would it fit in our westcoast contemporary (that's what we have decided to call our design choice) home that is being gradually remodelled to fit my image of home? I say my image because it was, at the time of purchase, nearly perfect for my husband, Poul. Every change has been a push and one by one, our rooms have been updated. We have, until now, done all of the work ourselves. Now, Poul has admitted that he is the bottleneck due to his perfectionist working style. We are contracting with a construction company to do the changes required to bring our bathrooms into this century. And that's where the chair comes in.
The chair is in the process of being dismantled as I take photos and notes to allow me to reverse the process with a lovely fabric to coordinate with my bathroom. It's actually the ensuite bathroom, but with only two of us living in the house, we have designated the hall bathroom to Poul and I get the one with the skylights off the master bedroom. It's such a luxury, having one's own bathroom. And now that my grandkids and my daughter have moved out on their own, I have a workroom for my project and a spare bedroom to allow us to escape the mess of demolition.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed and the vision of the finished chair clearly planted in my mind. I have never undertaken such a complicated upholstering project before. I suppose you could say that they don't make chairs like this anymore. The sticker on the bottom of the chair reads that Mom bought it in 1977. More to follow on this as I progress.
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