Some people bring home stray animals. We bring home stray chairs. Being as our house is not that large, we have to keep this weakness in check. So each chair has to meet certain criteria before entering our dulce domum: (1) must have some age; (2) must have character, i.e. Wow! that chair looks like it fell out of a Dickens' novel!; (3) must be inexpensive; (4) must be sturdy; (5) must be homey; (6) must be able to withstand sticky-fingered babies, kitty cat claws, and friendly folks of all shapes and sizes.
The other day I found an old windsor style chair with a rush seat at a thrift shop down the road. Usually when purchasing anything bigger than a bread box, I consult with my better half first. But the darned cell phone would not give me any service in that place, so I made an executive decision, and purchased it. Heck, it was only a few dollars over twenty, and for all I know, it could be the real McCoy, which may one day bless our children's children when they lug it to the Antiques Roadshow :)
I'm happy to report that when sweetie came home from work and saw it, he was pleased.
An old kitchen chair I brought home from my mom's. It belonged to my great-grandfather.
Old oak desk chair found at an open-air flea market near Denver, PA.
Ornately carved. Hand painted. Five dollars.
Found living at an apple orchard before we adopted it.
Hundred year old wicker rocker - comfortable to tall and short alike.
1920's piano stool
Found sticking out of a dirty snowbank on a trash-filled curb. What's wrong with people?