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The Three Legged Stool

June 20, 2006

When I was young we frequently ate Friday night dinners at our close family friend’s house. I would most often walk in and head straight to one of the three bar stools seated at their kitchen counter/peninsula. I loved sitting up there, while the adults mingled in the kitchen. Sometimes I would color, while drinking my Epsom Sunrise (They live in Epsom, NH and I was much too young to know it was a virgin Tequila Sunrise), sometimes I would just chat, other times I’d dance on the counter, or put my hair up in the crown that covers bottles of Chambord. If I was lucky, I’d get to eat at the counter perched on my stool.

Sometimes we moved to the living room or TV room, but most nights were spent in some form of eating in their large, open kitchen. I loved sitting up on the counter stools. I felt important, adult, and the center of attention. As the years passed and I grew up and moved out I would often return for visits home and end up eating there at least one night out of the visit. I still headed right for the bar stools and if I didn’t sit up on one, I would at least stand nearby that counter talking and eating appetizers.

The stools did such a good job of holding me up, keeping me high allowing me a feeling of freedom and importance. I had a place to sit, a place to go and it gave me access to what everyone else was doing.

Now, I’m a part of a newly formed three legged stool. We’re going to hold eachother high when we need to be, offer a place to climb onto if one feels like they’re falling, a place of importance and belonging, but freedom and indpendence too. I don’t know for certain if the family friends’ stools were four or three legs, but I do know that even if one of the legs had to be removed, I’d still go sit on them and they’d still hold me up.

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