May 4th 2012 4:37 am
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I have received some grief of late for taking over chairs in the living room. When Dad's Grandmother passed away, two of her chairs appeared at my 0.46 acres of Suburbia. To be precise, at that time it was Tyler's 0.46 acres of Suburbia. The chairs were upholstered in 1960s orange floral print fabric, still perfect, as Grandmother was a perfect housekeeper. In fact, when she passed away, the police had to inspect her apartment (due to the sudden nature of her death, it was simply to determine that indeed she died of natural causes, and there was no need to open an investigation.) The police commented that they had seldom seen an apartment kept in such perfect order.

Anyhoodles, the perfect 1960s orange floral fabric had to go and be replaced with a fabric that was more in keeping with the style and color that match my family -- navy, burgundy, clutter and dog hair.

No one usually uses the living room, other than for piano and saxophone practice. The floor is used for tents, train tracks, Duplo layouts, and projects that need to be spread out -- such as when Middle Lad and Little Lad decide to fling each other's piano and saxophone music all over the room, because obviously that is a much finer solution to moving each other's music than to simply remove it from the music stand (s) and placing it on an adjoining end table.

But again, I digress.

A few weeks ago, I realized that Grandma Bessie's chairs fit ME, Pennie, perfectly! I can wedge my self in a Perfect Pennie Ball, with back support, butt support, and head support, and the fabric perfectly compliments my Standard American Brown Dog FUR.

Mom has given in to Me, Pennie, and put blankets down upon the chairs, for in the scheme of life, I think she is far less annoyed by ME, Pennie, curled up on the best chairs in the house, than she is by the flung piano and saxophone music.