The skies are falling

Or rather, people in the chair. We've got an antique, 1920's dining set, and several weeks ago, one collapsed under Anthony. Quite humorous, and we now have what we need to fix the joints on the rest (except for time, gumption and know how. but those come along as you go).

We've also got a slick set of director's chairs that are at least 30 years old, but possibly 50. Wendy changed the fabric on one. The other was fine, so it's been in the closet I use for a work shop and minis studio. Today, I'm painting, when I hear the tell-tell sounds of a cat scratching on my couch. Look out. No cat. They're both at the bathroom door trying to figure out how to get in and watch Wendy shower. Can't blame em there.... I ignore this hint of pending doom and continue painting. I hear it again, louder, less tentative, and I pause in my brush stroke to ponder this sound. I get only the slightest hint of movement under my butt before the seat rips clean in half and I plummet to the floor.

In my most Jedi move this week, I not only avoided whacking my chin on the workbench, but I also avoided any mistake with the brush and set my almost finished mini on its base on top of the workbench on my way passed it. Score one for the reflexes.