Having moved to several different places in my life, out family has gone through, found new, and given away chairs. My favourite chairs have many pleasant memories at tech these to them.
Dad had crafted them himself. He was stubborn to have the just so. His personality is one that allows for this stubbornness. I think he got it from Grandpa, who reconstructed a bus to make it a vehicle you can live in and travel the country in. Grandpa would have got it from the pioneers in the Barossa valley, SA. Let's not start a history lecture. This is about chairs. If we're desperate to explain history, we can do that somewhere else. 
But Dad's determined character meant that we had chairs which were unique (and a little wonky after years of work). Dad constructed the chairs in the spare room. He didn't want painting the chairs to turn into a catastrophe, so he and Mum deliberately got up early to paint the chairs. Nah, that didn't work. 
I was up maybe an hour or two earlier then usual because I heard my parents. There was no way I was going to miss out on something so fun! Dad graciously let me help. I'm not convinced that I actually did much and I'm fairly certain that it was mainly my parents painting, but I was elated with my newfound responsibility. To give a child an opportunity to do something they see as critical - even if they're overall just keeping someone company- it can create a memory that builds confidence. We used two colours for the chairs. Some were deep green and some were bright orange. I think there was four, two of each. These chairs eventually grew tired, the paint bunching up from Jocelyn's jeans. The nails came out and chairs made an exaggerated creak when you leaned on them.
Me and my brother used to throw a blanket over two of them, and it would make this lovely little home. We'd play for hours. Keeping books and fake money on the seats of the chairs, whispering good nights, yelping cockle-doodle-doos, just enjoying ourselves. It would probably also be a relief for mum who found that she could use the clothes rack.
We had some friends downstairs. Their window was right next to the door which entered our section of the apartment. The cat would keep sneaking off and they would have to keep fixing it.
The passion that the cat had for adventure is so understandable (and flustering for it neighbours). They lived i a very tight but cosy apartment. There were three rooms, including the kitchen and bathroom. The fridge was on the left left the doorway, a rickety table serving as a counter pressed against a wall which was opposite the fridge and an arm's span away. To the right if the doorway was a tiny bathroom. A few steps forward, and you've entered the main room. A bed/couch to the left, a generous amount of space for the dining table in the centre, and bookshelves and collections to the right. It was small, but the essence  of the place was therefore concentrated and richer. A middle aged couple lived here. There names were Lena and Kostya. Kostya had  withdrawn from people because he was traumatised and gruff about being in the army. I didn't know him that well. He played chess with Dad, and almost always won. He taught Dad chess, but it was mostly experience for Dad since Kostya didn't talk much. We knew Lena much more. Thee are lots of Lena's in Russia, so we often called her Lena downstairs. When we were going to visit this house, we were visiting "Lena down the stairs' house". She has auburn hair and a winning smile. 
She was older than my parents, but they were intimate friends. 
I'll tell you about their friendship later. 

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