on wednesday, i mentioned to my adopted auntie, i was on the hunt for the perfect stool to showcase my most perfectly perfect cushion. now of course those that know me well, know there is already an abundance of likely looking stools loitering around our shed. however it was perfectly clear to me, not one of these stools would do the job. i knew this to be the case because only the night before as i went through old magazines, tearing out pages of inspiration so i may recycle and reduce the growing mountain of publications in the corner of my studio.... well this was rather fatal. for it stirred a stirring inside of me, a stirring which would require 'a-majoring' shuffling in our shed. and whilst i plotted and planned such a shuffling in my head my little beady eye alighted upon a stool on a page.
twas a stool that had the look of a chair in days gone by and some how along the line had lost its back. i thought how sweet, how charming, how positively perfect for my most fabby fav cushion of all time. hence i found myself in the situation of trying each and every stool in our shed in the hopes of finding something similar and just like in Cinderella, the cushion did not fit a single stool and thus, i was left with thoughts of surgery. could it be possible to find a willing chair victim within our shed who may like to be chopped around a little. i looked around me, i noted we were lacking in volunteers, indeed if i did not know better, i would have sworn they were hiding from me. and so i was left with no other alternative then to venture forth out of our shed, down the hill, around the lake, across several bazillion traffic lights and find my little stool, who looked like the one my heart had skipped a beat at.
the next day, my venturing ways found me at the thriftstore, a rendezvous with a friend, most convenient timing you could not agree more. there, waiting patiently was a little wooden $5 stool with the funny odd thing of looking like once it should have had a back but quite obviously never had due to no odd looking scars of surgery in bygone days done by a callous fellow such as myself driven to such horrors all because of the need for such a stool. (gosh! i am not sure its possible to read that sentence in one breath) some days i can only stop and marvel at how the thrifty gods move in their mysterious ways.
now the thing that was most clear, the little stool i spied on the page was a lovely old wood number and really was rather splendid in its birthday suit. but this here little stool before my eyes, shaped like a kidney bean, had been at the receiving end of a rather sorry wood stain colour with layers of glossy yellowing varnish to top it off. the thought of sanding his little sweet self back to his birthday suit did not appeal. no sirree! what appealed was a quick old rub down (tee hee) and bringing out the duck egg blue pronto...
Used Dog kept me company because quite frankly she does not care to be far away. i fear her dodgy eye sight and terribly aging body makes some days rather frightening for her.
meanwhile little olive played super heros by herself in the other room
after a while i noted, not only was Used Dog rather sad looking, but so was my new paint brush, so i sorted that in a trice
this morning as i proudly placed my little stool in its little spot and added my beloved cushion with a flourish and a voila!
i stepped back (narrowly missing Used Dog's slumbering bod) and decided it did not quite go with the rest of our family room. what a terrible blow, what was one to do? hence i was left with very little choice it would seem but to start the 'great major shuffle of 2013' in mossy shed so my little painted stool would 'fit-in'. i have yet to break the news to my man...
