I like thrift stores and second-hand shops. And things from the past that have character. I don’t mean broken, lead-paint ridden, cracked, grungy, splintery, rusty, moth-ball scented stuff. Like when you go into a place that’s supposedly decorated with antiques and everything smells weird and you wouldn’t dream of sitting on the uncomfortable, festering furniture or walking on the decaying carpets that probably haven’t been cleaned in 60 years, and the bureau drawers can’t be pulled out by mere mortals, and the mirrors are so discolored they can only reflect suggestions of images and dust. No. Not what I had in mind.
It’s small, under 8″ high. Not only is it very cute with the whimsical painted touches, but it still functions as a stepping stool. It easily takes my weight (I don’t hear any bad crunching sounds when I step onto it). The construction is sound and this stool has obviously seen years of good use. (How long do you suppose those plastic stepping stools sold now last?) When not in use, it can stay in a corner where I see it unlike an ugly, pedestrian step stool that is best stowed out of sight.
I have no idea who Bethany Lynn was or is. Considering the spacing, there may have been an initial lost to a sticker between Bethany and Lynn. I love that somebody, likely a parent, either bought or made this stool for their little girl and then stenciled on her name. If I had a little step stool with my name on it when I was a kid, I would have been delighted. I think most kids – even today’s kids – would. (After all, no matter how many toys or other privileges they have, children are still out of luck if they can’t reach stuff. Like the sink.)
There are faded clues to its history on the underside of the stool. One looks like a typed label with possibly an address. A store name? Can’t make it out. The other is better. Handwritten in pencil by an adult: December something, and what looks like “1959.” The “195” is clear. So the stepping stool is certainly at least 55 years old. I don’t know where you are or what’s become of you, Bethany Lynn, but thanks. I’ll take good care of your bunny stepping stool.