Shades of Yellow.

"Toad talked big about all he was going to do in the days to come, while stars grew fuller and larger all around them, and a yellow moon, appearing suddenly and silently from nowhere in particular, came to keep them company and listen to their talk." 
                                                                       
                                                                      - Kenneth Grahame.


Up until about two weeks ago, there were still more leaves on the trees than on the ground. But now, enormous piles of raked, sodden maple leaves line the sidewalks and accordingly, the landscape has shifted. The horizon that lay hidden by the buds of spring and the lush green foliage of summer has stepped out from behind the high-noon sun to reveal a neighbourhood grid, church steeples and the lofty dome of St. Joseph's Oratory. The view strikes me as austere - in truth a bit melancholy - when seen from a high point, but it's beautiful, too. Beautiful in its simplicity, how the greyish-brown branches reach out past the cool light of a pale blue sky, how Jupiter pierces the November night sky a little more fiercely than it does in July.


What does this have to do with the colour yellow? Mostly that I have been surrounded by shades of yellow and gold and amber for weeks now and I wanted to write about it before it's all gone. You'll have to wait for spring for the soft pale shade of a daffodil, but for now, there's this.

(My) Room With a View

Didn't I tell you it was nice?

Am I right, or am I right?

(C'mon admit it, I'm SO right!)

Anatomy of a (Re) Covered Chair

I love my tree house of an apartment. From where I sit right this minute, I can look towards my left, past my gold velvet 'Mad Men' (or is it Jetsons?) arm chair, beyond the chipped, blue metal-top table to see yet more gold. Gold leaves on the enormous maple that towers above this house, gold leaves on the smaller tree that stands in its shade and - you guessed it! - a lattice-work of gold across the street. It's beautiful in full sun, when the bluest sky sets off the brilliance of it all, and it's enchanting and peaceful today, when the sky is a paler blue and a weaker sun casts a soft, even light across the whole tableau.

This introduction was a long-winded way of saying that even if I hadn't inherited great pieces of furniture, even if it had only been a great space I'd lucked into, I'd have been happy. But I did indeed luck into some wonderful pieces of furniture and this chair was one of them. When I arrived it was covered by a vinyl yellow-covered seat cushion, the foam inside it so disintegrated that it poured out like crushed honeycomb candy on to my front balcony. Sometime in June I purchased a square foam insert, which kicked around my living room until last week, when it was finally placed atop the chair. (Notice I said placed, not affixed - if you see the last photo, you'll notice it's slightly askew). A couple of weeks ago my sister laboured over an hour to staple the foam and first layer of fabric together, the foam finally cut to approximate the shape of wooden seat. The last step was for me to take the brown printed corduroy fabric I bought and slip an elastic through the casing I'd pinned in place; once slipped, I sewed around the edge. Too, well, lazy to change the thread to a nice matching colour, I used the white thread that was already in my machine, but since this thread can only be seen from the bottom, I have no plans to think any more about it. It adds character, methinks! A bit of dash, right underneath my chair, where you'd least expect it.

Bare bones chair, with baggy of original nuts and bolts taped to the chair back. 

The foam, finally cut and trimmed.

Andrea staples the first layer of fabric, covering the foam, on to the seat.

Cat, easily mistaken for an all-black Daniel Boone coonskin cap, snoozes on chair.

Detail, corduroy. Looks black, but no, it's brown. Milk chocolate brown.

White cat poses on chair, wearing orange necklace to 'make the orange flower pattern pop.' 

(His words, not mine!)