“Eve was born on the Philadelphia Main Line, where she acquired a deep love of furniture. A profound sense of good taste made it easier for her to communicate with furniture than with humans. Eve’s first real telepathic relationship was with a Biedermeier chest of drawers in her grandmother’s house, and the two grew so close that when the drawers grew dusty, Eve sneezed. When Eve realized that she could communicate with any furniture in town, she began to exchange juicy tidbits of gossip with her wooden and leather friends.
“Once when Eve was watching The Dick Van Dyke Show, she saw an ottoman deliberately being tripped over for cheap comic effect. Traumatized, she deliberately shut off her ability to communicate with furniture, determined to protect herself from further heartbreak.
“After going off her medication, Eve’s channel of telepathic communication with furniture was reopened. Since then, she has helped many clients—one born every minute, in fact—to achieve a better understanding of their tables, beds and chairs, to solve their behavioral problems and to help many individuals reunite with lost furniture.”
Do any of you have quarrelsome breakfronts? Depressed chaise longues? Long-gone picture frames you’d like to chat with? Let Madame Eve help you!
Madame Eve, we inherited a burnt orange (color, not fire damaged) recliner from my husband’s late grandmother. This chair sits in the periwinkle spare room next to the green beanbag chair and miscellaneous other pieces stashed out of mind. I need to know if this recliner would be happier in the family room, and if so, would it be insulted if I reupholstered it? It’s very comfy, but completely wrong for our decorating palette. Obviously it’s also wrong for where it sits now, but we can shut the door and forget it exists.
FairyChatMum’s recliner—Hellllooo, darling! What a nice recliner you are, it’s so nice to meet you! I am getting . . . mortification and depression from this recliner. it is telling me it loves you and your husband very much, FairyChatMum, but it is still recovering from its hideous birth defect, and wishes your grandmother had had it recovered herself. Shall I tell the recliner that you will have it recovered? . . . It’s also telling me it’s afraid of the beanbag chair and can you keep the two separated?
Encinitas’ waterbed—We have all had a dip in our waterbed at one time or another, dear. I sympathize.
Eve dahling, as the grandchild of a primitive antiques dealer, I’ve long had an appreciation for the simple and functional. As such, I have a tall boy that won’t hold beer and a deacon’s bench that’s never given Mr. Jones a splinter.
My problem is this… my young wife thinks the Pottery Barn is furniture heaven. How, Eve, can my antique sentiments survive in today’s cosmopolitan world?
I have a grandfather clock in my bedroom inherited from, of all people, my grandfather. My problem is this: I don’t keep it wound up because if I did it would chime DING DONG DING DONG every quarter of an hour and disturb my beauty sleep. However, I worry that I am denying the grandfather clock its right to free expression and that I am repressing its very nature.
When a clock isn’t wound, does it still feel? Is it sad? If 11 and 5 were eyes, would it cry?
Dear Lieu—recycling that same joke, “we’ve all had a tall boy that won’t hold beer . . .” But I can’t talk to you, dear, I can only talk to your furniture. Do they have any questions?
Francesca’s clock—Hellooo, darling, and what a big, magnificent clock you are! Francesca says she can’t have you dinging and donging and keeping her awake . . . Yes . . . Francesca, your clock is rather hurt that it can’t do its job, and wants to know if you can’t wind it on weekends, dear, so its chimes can get a workout?
Eve, thank goodness you’re here. I’ve had a problem with my new coffee table, and I’m at my wit’s end.
I got the coffee table just the other day, from a consignment shop. It was a great deal, and the right size, and in great condition. And it matches the entertainment center ever so nicely.
But since we’ve brought it home, things with it just haven’t been… right. Whenever we’re barefoot in the living room, we stub our toes on it. It seems to know just where to be so that we run right into it. Its finish is so slippery that glossy magazines, car keys, and even enthusiastic dogs just zip right off it, often crashing into the entertainment center. And then there’s the aura of sullen, desperate evil that it exudes. It’s very expressive, for a modern piece.
Tell me, Eve, what is wrong with the poor coffee table? I’d hate to return it; it was quite the bargain.
LOL! Madame Eve, are you wearing riding boots with no horse in sight, and are you speaking in a terribly affected tone?
BTW - I have this old tool chest named Star (because of the star carved in the top, you see) that I got from a yard sale. Can you please tell me something about it’s background, and is it happy with me? It sits next to the antique chair who’s arms and legs are made of old farm implements, probably by a slave. Is it happy to be free from bondage?
(all furniture mentioned in this post are real. The names have been changed to protect the innocent)
Madame Eve, I have a lovely picture of a woman playing a harp. She is dressed in white and gold gossamer, sitting in a darkened room lit by moonlight. There is a lovely border around her portrait that has light browns, burgundies, and gold. I know she’s got to be unhappy with the grotesque black plastic frame my mother insisted she looked “just fine” in. :eek: It’s a relatively small picture (think large greeting card size) and I want her to be happy without being so garish. Could you tell me what kind of frame she would prefer?
Dear Mr.Visible’s coffee table—Hellooo, darling. Ohhh, I see. You see, your coffee table used to belong to a horrendous white-trash family, who put Jugs and Penthouse atop it, and spilled beer on it and it had to sit there watching shows on E! and TNN. It is still traumatized. I suggest being very gentle with it, playing soft music and watching a lot of PBS. If you can find a nice biography of, say, Kay Kendall to sit atop it, it tells me that would make it very happy.
Dear St.Germain’s tool chest—Helloo, darling, do you like my riding boots and weird eyebrows and poncy accent? Oh, yesss . . . Your tool chest tells me it and the chair exhange many fascinating stories of the 19th century, but they are unsure of your IQ and have not yet begun to share them with you. They’re a bit poncy themselves, it seems. I will tell them, now that you are very much into history and genealogy and would love nothing more than to sit there all night chatting with the furniture.
Dear Skerri’s painting—Hellooo, darling, what a nice harp! Oh, yesss? She says a simple, Neoclassic dark gold frame would look just lovely on her—and she thanks you for asking. She has quite a sense of humor, this painting does!
Eve after my husbands production of Hamlet finished its run he decided to keep the main set piece a large couch (the type that folds out into a bed). It had been re-upholstered for the production in a stunning gold satin with the cushion covers in a deep purple satin. To make the couch more regal 8 curved planks were added to the back that stick up about 5 foot from the couch. These were also covered in the gold satin. We have named it “70’s porn movie couch”.
This stunning couch has been added to our already somewhat overcrowded living room. I am wondering how my other furniture feels about it. The existing couch is beige and also turns into a bed, it seems a little dull and depressed besides the new couch.
The bookshelves (all 7 of them) seem to be staying away from the new couch and generally hugging the walls of the room. Our Television and Stereo system have jumped to safety on top of the chest of draws and appear to be huddled together in fear.
Helloooo, leechbabe’s couch—I am getting . . . that the couch is still traumatized and caught up in its long Hamet run, and is somewhat of a drama queen . . . It is frightening the other furniture a bit (especially that rather sensitive bookshelf) by reciting the bloodier passages over and over. Shall I tell it that it has retired from the stage? . . . There. It says something along the lines of, “I’ll be back! I’ll show them what a real star looks like!”
Eve several years ago I inherited a dining room set (table, eight chairs and buffet) which had been my grandparents’. I was pleased to get them, as I had many fond memories of family holiday dinners. Unfortunately, during some recent remodeling I was forced to put most of the chairs in the garage for storage and stack boxes on the table (after covering it with a large sheet of clear plastic to protect the surface, of course!). This was supposed to be a temporary situation but it has now been over a year.
I am concerned that the table is feeling neglected and misused, especially since when I got it some of the protective table pads were missing and I had promised that I would replace them but have not yet done so.
I am also wondering if the buffet is comfortable with its new function as a microwave stand. The dining room is a bit crowded, so I had no other place to put it. I had hoped to be able to move the microwave when we remodeled the kitchen, but my plans to open the space between the kitchen and dining room were thwarted by the unfortunate placement of a heating duct in the wall between them.
I would appreciate any assurances you could give me or my dining room set.
Dear Eve, I seem to have a problem with feline loyalties to my furniture. My cat has abandoned the expensive black leather couch, her normal lounging spot, for my slightly-worn and pilled gray-tweedy patterned fabric computer workchair.
Has the couch offended her? Has the workchair made a better offer? Will my living room/workroom (one and the same) ever be harmonious again? (The couch seems colder and more distant, and I’m a contantly picking cat hairs off the workchair.)
If it is of any note, the cat is black and beige, is harmonious color-wise with the couch, and clashes with the chair horribly. And no, I have never accidentally sat on her on either the couch or the chair.
My husband’s recliner has quit reclining. It’s one of a pair of “leather on metal frame” Scandinavian-type recliners we adopted about 10 years ago. Mine still reclines, but his has begun resisting. It doesn’t communicate with us. Have we offended it in some way?
I recently purchased a mahogany Federal-style secretary. She neither types nor takes short-hand, but she is quite a beautiful specimen. Would it be considered sexual harrassment if I were to lightly stroke her with bee’s wax on occasion?
Dear LurkMeister’s table and buffet—Hellooo, darlings, aren’t you pretty! I hear that . . . yes . . . Table does indeed miss his chairs very, very much, and thinks they have gone away forever. I am telling him that they are in storage . . . But he does want to at least visit from time to time . . . Buffet . . . Is frightened by the microwaves, and wants to know if you can’t put something under it to ward off the evil rays?
Dear screech-owl’s couch—Aren’t you a lovely copuch! All leathery and black. Couch is very much hurt by kitty’s defection, and says that the workchair is a whore.
Dear OldBroad’s husband’s recliner—Hmmm . . . Seems to be furniture arthritis. Do you know of a good chair chiropractor?
Dear plnnr—Your secretary would indeed enjoy being stroked with beeswax. You think becasue she’s ancient, she’s dead?