
I had my eye on this old, paint splattered stool for, gosh, at least a year, maybe more. It was for sale in a local antiques mall, and I would faithfully visit it every time I stopped by. I couldn't figure out why I was so drawn to it. Other than the fact that I love old wood. And a lot of color. Splattered.


But I so nearly missed it, came so close to never having the chance to bring it home. The thought makes me shudder.


I wandered into the antiques mall just before New Year's, when to my dismay, the place was nearly empty. They were closing - it was their very last day! NO! I ran to where the stool had always been, only to find an empty corner. I was heartbroken. I had had so many chances.
I inquired where the owner of the stool might be, and was stunned to find her out front loading her truck. The old stool? With all the paint? Please, where is it? It was already in storage... but she would be happy to bring it back for me - and sell it at a discount. Bless her!
So that is how I finally brought my father's stool home. It must have been meant to be.