The Re-Upholstered Chair: Part 2

Let it be said that I, procrastinator extraordinaire, have finished something.  That's right.  I've finished my grandparent's arm chair.  For history on the chair check out part 1 here.

It went from this: (a broken seat, stained material and loads of special memories...)

...to THIS (shiny, gold and beige stripes, comfortable, sit-able and elegant)!  Now to put it somewhere safe.

It really didn't take any sewing once I bought the right tools. And since the material was only $40, and the tools were under $10, it was a steal. Interested in doing this yourself?  I followed everything on this site here.

My mother-in-law, the all-knowing seamstress, told me I did not have to do the piping, so of course I did not.  I'm lazy. I also did not put on the skirting since it looked good without it.  If I had waited to do it, the chair might not ever have been finished.

If you know me well enough, you know I've recently discovered that patterns are a trigger for my epilepsy.  This, of course, was discovered AFTER I bought the striped material, and I had to pause a few times while covering the difficult pieces while my brains unscrambled. But I was determined to get this done.  Mr. just shook his head while I went back at it.  "Your mother's crazy," he mentions to my son. Umm, perhaps.

I am really happy with how it turned out, and now I can say I've re-upholstered something. Can't say I'll jump into this type of project again (especially with vertical stripes), but at least Mr. Man won't be throwing out my chair any time soon.  Or be sitting in it.

What have you been working on?

Erin

A Re-upholstered Chair: part 1

Today I am stepping away from my "normal" nutters posts to share a project I am working on to relieve a little stress (and to persuade Mr. man not to throw it out).

My grandparents gave me a petite arm chair when I was in my teens, covered in royal blue faux velvet. As upholstery hobbyists, the two of them had put together this little beauty themselves.  The seat was deep and low to the ground, and the arms, delicately curved, were set in, making it quite narrow.  It was never built to house a large man, and low and behold, it was broken by a certain caped gentleman.

Several times he has threatened to put it out on the sidewalk with a "FREE" sign on it, but I keep hiding it in different places, out of his reach. This chair has gone with me to every apartment and house I've ever lived in, and since grandpa has been gone for several years, and now grandma, it has huge sentimental value.

So last week I set to work taking it apart, and seeing if I could fix the seat.  This is by no means a tutorial, but I am following several on pinterest :)

I took several pictures as it came apart, so I could go backwards when I put it back together.  I found a beautiful gold striped remnant just big enough to cover the chair, making the cost of fixing this girl at just over $40.00.

I paid Little Miss $2 to pull out hundreds of staples. I pulled out several hundreds more, and together we cut out the pattern on our new material.

There were a few surprises as we tore the chair apart: the webbing had come out the bottom because it had not been long enough, and there were, in fact, no springs in the chair seat at all.  I knew I couldn't handle installing springs, so I figure once this is all put together, Mr. Man will still not be allowed to sit in it (...or kids ...or cats, for that matter).

And, ew...we found horse hair. Bleck.

The chair was made of solid wood, but wasn't very secure, so Mr. drilled some added support into the legs (the first screws that had ever been put into this chair) in between thousands of staple holes and a few ancient nails.

The cat made herself a fast home in among the seat padding for a few days while I was in the cake shop.

So yesterday my son and I fixed the seat.  The Fabricland staff were great at pointing out what I needed, and off I went with the webbing, extra seat padding and gold striped material.  Monster sat at one end of the seat and I at the other, pulling, measuring, weaving and stapling until my back ached.

We were so proud of ourselves!

Whether or not this chair lasts in our busy home, I feel empowered taking on this project, and a bit sentimental. As Monster and I were examining the chair and determining how to put in the seat, I found my grandfather's markings underneath, measuring where to place the strips, and allowing us to follow his silent instructions.  It was surreal to say the least.

Next week perhaps I will get back at it. March break is filling up with play dates, and Veggie Tale concerts.  And my lower back has staple gun aches.  I'll go back to my KitchenAid mixers and convection oven for awhile.

What are you working on this month?
Erin

Little Miss on Eternal Life

There has been a lot of discussion around me lately about introverts. If you're shy, are you an introvert?  If you are a "hermit", are you an introvert?  Can an introvert enjoy a party? A heavy discussion?  Do they open up?

I've been called an introvert, and even a recluse.  Especially after I quit teaching.  I snuggle up in my house with my books and laptop, and enjoy the solitude of quiet.  I do not necessarily like to be alone for long periods of time, but I certainly like my quiet.  In the movie, Date Night, Tina Fey's character, Mrs. Foster, explains that her fantasy would be to get a hotel room all to herself and just sit in the quiet.  That's what I am like.

So when Little Miss is home, the ultimate extrovert, I am stretched to the max with 'anti-introvertness', and am forced to engage in the most complicated, and deepest conversations I've ever had.

"Can God bring people back to life?" she asks from the back of the van.

"Yes." I say, uncertainly, wondering where this is going.  Easter was just last week.

"So when is Grandma coming back to life?"

Oh, dear.  "No, she's alive in heaven.  She won't come back here on earth."  My mind is racing as to the questions I am about to answer.

"Jesus came back to life 'cause he's God's son, right?"  She's looking out the window, deep in thought.

"Yes."

"So are we Jesus' daughters?  kids?"

"Uh, we're his friends..."

"But aren't we God's kids?"

"Um yes.  But God gives us life in heaven, not on earth after we die."  And I went into the Easter story again, the raising of Lazarus, anything that could possibly either make it easier to understand or so  complicated that I could possibly confuse myself.  I was sweating.

And just as I think I have a handle on it, Little Miss interrupts, and yells,

"COWS!"

Oh, good grief.  I look out the window at a herd of boring jersey cows and suddenly remember that I was riding with a five year old, with the attention span to match.  My blood pressure lowers back to normal and I am suddenly very tired.  Sigh.

Someone will someday explain eternal life to her better than I can, and for now, I will continue driving through Oak Hills to my home, where I will pull a hoodie over my head, sit in front of my laptop, and lather in my 'introvertness'.  Little Miss can go off and play, contemplating life and death with her barbies.

Grandma's Baking

As I am getting cookies and treats ready for tonight's Santa Claus parade, I find I am missing my grandma. Her number one love language was through food. She cooked and baked constantly, and remembered everything that you loved.

Every summer we would come to stay, and she would feed me tapioca pudding until I was sick of it. She would let us put sugar on our cereal when mom wasn't looking. She would make melt-in-your-mouth shortbread cookies (pressed with a fork), and lots of rice krispy squares. It was as if she had been preparing all winter for when we would come in July.

I remember all of the quirky things she did. She used a spatula to get every bit of mashed potatoes out of the pot - and she always whipped her potatoes with a hand mixer to make them extra creamy. She would poke toothpicks into the top of any dessert before wrapping it plastic wrap so as to avoid smearing the icing. And she wouldn't let a bit of food go to waste.

It certainly helps to remember her when I have many of the tools that were from her kitchen: measuring cups, spoons, a rolling pin, and even her aprons. She always had a cutting board hanging on her kitchen wall that had a cat painted on it, and it is now in my home kitchen.

And, to top it off, the very chocolate cake recipe that I use almost every week for customers is the one that she used to bake for us.

So tonight, after the parade, family and friends will enjoy hot cocoa (with extra chocolate and marshmallows), festive rice krispy squares, and extra chocolatey haystack cookies.

I will make sure to lick the spoon clean in honour of my grandma.

*******

Grandma once said, "Your grandfather never understood how a woman needs chocolate."

Amen, grandma, amen.

Flowers from Grandma

As a collective, my kids and I have decided Grandma is in heaven dancing, tending the flowers and kittens and not necessarily sharing a house with Grandpa.

I have unconsciously started filling my house with flowers since Gma first got sick. Now, some of the more substantial, potted plants have come from friends. In fact, yesterday I was greeted in the school parking lot by a friend with a hug and a pot of tulips.

But today when I was quickly running through Walmart to pick up cream cheese, these coloured daisies jumped out at me. I honestly thought of Gma immediately and was overcome with a desire to HAVE THEM NOW! I realized, then, that they would have to fight for a vase and a place in my shop as I had indeed been buying flowers without really thinking about it.

My dad said, in his eulogy, that if everyone was Jean, all of the flowers would be tended, and we would all have dishes of water to float the blossoms on our tables. If I am developing that unconscious desire to tend the flowers then so be it.

I could not have mimicked a more deserving person, and of course, developed a more beautiful habit.