This is the stool that used to sit under the telephone in my grandparents kitchen. I just loved to spin around on it, drinking soda, watching golf on their little TV. The stool sat on one side of a newspaper overloaded wooden desk, on the other side, next to the doorway, were the penciled in measurements of every grandchild, some from toddler to adulthood. After they were both gone, and the home that they'd created was necessarily changed, I became irrationally attached to this stool. It now had a cracked vinyl top and rust on the legs. My parents brought it to me along with the dining room table and chairs. I suddenly had all of these relics of my childhood sitting in my tiny house. I put the stool in the garage because I had nowhere keep it inside. We'll be moving in a few months to a house that has a big kitchen, with a built in desk where the phone will go. The space is just screaming for a spinny stool. I got it out of the garage today, cleaned up the rust and recovered the cracked vinyl with a print oilcloth. Here's the before and after.