One of my brothers made this little bench/foot stool in high school shop class. He was 4 grades ahead of me so that makes this stool almost 30 years old.
When I moved into my own apartment in Toronto, I stole it from our mom's house. It's not like she was using it. For almost 10 years, the bench had just sat in Mom's living room (that we weren't allowed to go in unless we had company). Like many women of her generation, our mom cherishes the things she loves by setting them aside and not using them.
I've kept this bench ever since and have loved and cherished it as well. Like many women of my generation, I use the things I love. This bench is used almost daily to reach things on the top shelf in our kitchen. I'm 5'9" but the stool makes it so I don't have to strain as hard. My kids, especially Mini Me, sit on this while they are watching me in the kitchen. There are flecks of paint from every one of the homes I painted.
If you look closely, you can see where the finish is darkened in spots where my feet rubbed.
This little stool has travelled to numerous apartments and homes with me in 7 cities and 2 countries. Just a little shop class project my brother has most likely long forgotten, but it has brought me so much joy. My brother has not visited any of my homes in the States, but having his stool helped to make that okay.
(He's a really busy guy.)
Then I found this last night.
Which led to this.
And now, I am heartbroken.
J says we can fix it with carpenter's glue. But I will be scared to use it after that. Sadly, my little bench might have to sit in a corner of my living room, unused.
But much loved.