Pull up a chair

In our family, we like hand-me-downs. It must be some sort of genetic incapability to say no to anything which might be useful, because we all do it, misers and spendthrifts alike.

I've said yes to an eight-foot gold sofa with a knife cut on the side which turned out to be a godsend when we had overnight guests. I've acquired early American tables with that old fake white paint-on antiquing from the '60s, complete with six chairs. I removed the paint from every inch of those suckers, every turned post and carving. I have no idea how I managed the stripper fumes, the incredible mess scraped paint causes and sanding dust everywhere because we were living in our apartment then and didn't have a garage. They turned out to be worth every minute I spent on them since they turned out to be solid rock maple. They grace our dining room with beauty, style and history.

I'm currently painting a really cheap old desk in bright and cheery Mary Englebreit-style colors and patterns. It's turning out really well, but it's taken me seven years and I'm far from done. Something very dirty got scraped across the perfectly painted top during Gram's move. And the ancient veneer chips off every time I move it the least little bit; so it's in a constant state of disrepair. I originally looked at it as just a really big tole-painted piece that I would get rid of once I'd gotten the furniture painting bug out of my system, but I'm pretty impressed with its cheerful look and it may hold my scrapbook supplies someday instead of sitting in a yard sale.

I won't even mention numerous chairs, tables, and bedsteads that I've either pawned off on other relatives or are currently taking up space in our garage. They've taught me about the ease and indestructibility of tung oil, how get a perfect surface using wet/dry sandpaper, the beauty of electric sanders and staplers, how carpet padding makes the perfect cushy seat, and that hope spring eternal, but they have not taught me how to say no.

As my sister, Pooh is not immune to this genetic flaw. She said yes to a dining set that had been re-upholstered in a green-and-gold herculon fabric. I can see how she allowed them into her house--the wood carving is intricate and unique, the table expands exponentially, and the buffet is a treasure. Unfortunately the fabric should never have been allowed to leave Texas. Fortunately, it only took her fifteen years to find the perfect burgundy print to match her wool area rug. (And another year in which to lure us and the electric stapler to her home.) We were up till well after midnight, pulling the fabric taut, stretching the corners into smooth perfection, praying that the stapler would hit the chair not a finger. It was tiring but ultimately extremely satisfying. This before and after photo doesn't even begin to show the extent of the change from poorly padded to comfortable, rough to luxurious and ugly to gorgeous.

We did a good job! If I have nothing else to show for my summer but my sister's chairs, it's okay with me!