a special place to sit
(mother's arm was in a cast)"
I know that a stool isn't necessarily a "chair," persay, but I would venture that they are not so distant relatives. Nonetheless, a good seat is a good seat, and this stool happens to be one of my favorites. I distinctly remember where this stool sat in my grandparents' kitchen on Roslyn Drive, remember sitting on it and eating sundaes with cherries on top, remember pulling it up to the table crowded with family. It is a rather basic stool, painted white with four legs, sturdy and utilitarian. But it is also a special stool. In the rough times following my grandmother's passing, my whole family, my mother in particular, found comfort in small notes left by Ga-Ba in the most interesting of places. It was as if she knew the joy we would find in the memories she left for us, some of which we might never have known, such as the one we found on this stool. I use this stool in my home now to put dishes up on shelves that are out of my reach, to sit while I chat on the phone, for guests when there aren't enough chairs on the screen porch, and even, on occasion, as a plant stand. And every time, I think about my grandmother, as a toddler being fed by her father on the same stool. Its a type of physical memory that I love! It makes me want to record my thoughts with an indelible marker on my favorite items, so that somewhere down the road, someone will find them and remember.