Good counsel

As newlyweds, my late husband and I rented a furnished apartment in Bay City, a mobile home in Rosebush, and a house in Clawson in 1970. We then settled into a townhouse in Warren. Close to my family, by that time in 1971, we’d acquired a hand-me-down kitchen table with four chairs, a sofa, bed and dresser, and crib for our firstborn daughter.

Mel’s father, who would stop by our townhouse while in our area on business, once suggested we buy a chair for our living room.

“Spend more for Hudson’s quality,” he said.

After several months of pinching pennies, we found a wing-back chair upholstered in brown corduroy in J.L. Hudson’s furniture department. Reminiscent of the beloved wing-back chair of my childhood, Hudson’s delivered our purchase.

Afterward, when my father-in-law stopped by, he aimed for our new chair. If our daughter wasn’t napping, Dad held his first grandchild.

Indeed, Hudson’s fine reputation sustained numerous moves of our little household: first to Berkley in 1974, which concluded my father-in-law’s convenient visits during the work week.

Four years later, a career opportunity for my husband moved our family to Plum Borough, Pennsylvania. Within a year, we returned to Detroit with all our earthly possessions. Meanwhile, the wing-back chair sustained her dignity while our young daughters posed for pictures with their dolls.

After several years in Detroit and breaking-and-entering of our home, the day came to move our family once again. During our firstborn’s senior year in high school, we lived in an apartment in Sterling Heights while we built our home in Addison Township.

Although her bones remained stout, the brown-corduroy upholstery on our wing-back chair showed her age. Once we moved into our new home in winter 1988, my husband and I agreed on green corduroy for her facelift.

Although another excellent outcome of a master’s work, the green fabric didn’t hold up as well as the brown. This came with the necessity of purchasing new living room furniture, which one of Mel’s business accounts gladly provided.

McMillan’s furniture in Yale stocked wing-back, pink (my favorite color) plush recliners. They also stocked a traditional sofa to match the chairs. And quality equal to Hudson’s.

Mel and I retired our faded, green wing-back chair upstairs to the guest bedroom, vacated by our youngest daughter.

Yet, my favorite chair and I weren’t happy with the arrangement. I wanted her nearby on the main floor to cuddle up with a good book. But where?

Then, one sunny day, I spied the corner in the kitchen window where I keep houseplants, and knew where our wing-back chair belonged.

Post haste, I found a bright yellow fabric with red roosters at Joann Fabrics and called my upholsterer. When my husband retired, he claimed the wing-back in the sunny corner.

Since his death, I’ve learned to keep binoculars handy for spying such things as a cardinal on a barren branch that turned out to be a cluster of resilient red maple leaves.

Yes, dear Reader, my chicken chair is a refuge of rest and discovery. As my father-in-law, my guests still aim for her wings when they enter the door.

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