I’ve been reminiscing a lot lately; might be part of the whole Thanksgiving spirit. Found my high school graduation portrait. Found my yearbook with the incriminating inscription. Last night while puttering in my studio, I hung up pictures of Dad that FirstHubby’s dad took on a fishing trip, probably to Billingsley Creek near Hagerman, Idaho. That was Dad’s favorite fishing hole, and it’s where Mom and my sister scattered his ashes almost 20 years ago.
I’ve spent a good chunk of the morning in the studio, deconstructing Mt. Ravelled [the accretion of stuff on top of what was formerly the kitchen table and is now allegedly my work table]. I would give you a visual, but my camera informed me that the batteries needed charging.
I am finding all sorts of things in the process: the box that my old phone came in, with its accompanying manuals and plastic tray, all now comfortably ensconced in a bag for recycling. Four unfinished wooden footstools, and I cannot for the life of me remember which two of the girls has a completed footstool, or if I gave one to a granddaughter.
The paper bag of buttons that once belonged to my friend Candayce’s mother, which are now artfully arranged in a soup bowl that I was going to take to the thrift shop which supports the women’s shelter. The paper bag itself has gone into my drawer that holds gift bags, etc.
Three orphaned socks, one of which is black with green shamrocks. Two old pairs of spectacles, at least one of which could be doing good somewhere else. A spool of tigertail wire (nylon coated miniature wire cable) for jewelry making.
The skein of grey silk/cashmere laceweight yarn that my friend Jo in Ireland sent me when I sent her some Texas pralines, which yarn Secondborn might find suitable for this year’s [belated] birthday scarf.
Last night I scooted the armoire into my studio. It is serving as an end-cap to my work table and looking mighty handsome in the process. I have stowed the padded, zippered bag that Blessing came in, which holds her human feet and calves, inside it. I can sit on the “throne” and look through the hall into my studio, across the table, and see the far wall. This fills me with a ridiculous amount of satisfaction and joy.
Brief segue: I love to decorate. I don’t need expensive things to make my place feel like home. I have lived with hand-me-downs for decades and been perfectly content. [I was doing shabby chic long before it was chic.] I bought my first new chairs ~ other than the wooden folding chairs from World Market; I am talking real furniture here ~ in September 2007, the painted dresser last year, and three bookcases plus the armoire this year.
My biggest challenge is that I have many interests, and I rotate through them on a regular basis, so it makes no sense for me to give away all my scrapbooking supplies, because it will come up in the rotation again, and knitting will take a back seat for awhile; it’s the same with quilting, decorative painting, silk painting, noodling around with watercolors, etc.
The urge to create is not a tidy passion, but it is a demanding one. I would like to be able to keep my living room company-ready. At the moment, the coffee table looks like an explosion in an elven sweatshop: jewelry stuff, cups full of watercolor pencils, beads out the wazoo, the scanner I have yet to hook up, which will eventually enable me to get rid of two file cabinets. The gorgeous huge Mikasa bowl that is piled with balls of yarn, knitting needles, Jessica’s skirt and underskirt and belt, the blush pink silk for her blouse, her half-completed sweater. There is a stack of magazines I want to get to (ha!).
Organizing a room, for me, is a bit like working a jigsaw puzzle. I have to find all the pieces for the perimeter first. That was the massive shoving-around-of-furniture which took place a few weeks ago and reduced the visual clutter at least in terms of what I can see from here at my desk. Getting pictures and decorative items out of the boxes and drawers in which I had stowed them, and hanging them up last night, was like adding another two or three rounds of puzzle pieces onto the edges.
And while I have been puttering, I have been thinking, pulling out memories and dusting them off. Had a lively and amusing conversation with a friend earlier this week, on the topic of kissing. Perhaps the most memorable one was when I married FirstHubby. I may have blogged about it. Old boyfriend came to the wedding, fortified with a bit of dutch courage to see me marry another. Came reeling through the receiving line, took me by the shoulders, kissed me thoroughly, grinned, and said, “Goodbye, Sweetlips.”
Best. Exit. Line. Ever.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!