Eventually my grandfather got hired to teach at a college outside Providence. My grandpa was a good guy; everyone liked him. No, seriously -- here's proof from the student newspaper:
Bryant College Digital Commons
As you can see, it was the most exciting news day in Rhode Island history.
But what God gave my grandfather in affability he denied him in handyman skills. The guy (alav ha-shalom) sucked ass at home repairs. For 40 years, my grandparents' house was held together by a latticework of yellowing duct tape. Windows, bannisters, chairs ... you name it. My grandfather was a dipsomaniac man-spider.
As my grandparents got more wizened, they'd spend most of the day in two Lay-Z-Boys. This didn't give them much impetus to buy new chairs for the rest of us. Around 1993, you had four options, listed here in order of attractiveness: a) stand, b) the floor, c) two chairs that would spontaneously combust if you sat in them too hard (these were reserved for my parents), or d) the stabbing sofa (below -- I'm center).
Back then, our favored pastime was gatherin' 'round an itchy hound.