his week I hit a wall. I’ve been working very hard physically for over a month now, I got fired Feb 12th and Dad’s stroke was the next Sunday and the fire the Sunday after that. The wall finally smacked me in the face. No energy. I’ve had 5 boxes from upstairs to unpack and it’s taken me 5 days to do it. I look at all of it and wonder where I’m going to put stuff. I sold all my bookshelves you know. I’ve puttered around a bit, every once in awhile I get enough steam to do a project like that closet and then I crash again. In front of me this week is painting the spackle patches in the bathroom and installing the three shelves, towel racks, toilet paper racks, and the temporary carpet until we get the new linoleum. Don’t seem all that interested.
I am itching to get back to crafty stuff but am still in a limbo. So much is still in storage and I haven’t had the energy to deal with the craft room. I know some of you are hankering to see it but it is a very slow slog for me. But slowly the urge is starting to percolate.
My dear long time and recently back in my life friend, Breath of Fresh Air Leslie, has a knitting meetup group. As long as you’re doing something textile related you can go. Which is good since my brother and I decided that socks are no longer working for him. I picked up the Bohemian blouse I’ve set aside and started hemming the rest of the pieces in prep for the embroidery and then the faggoted seams. Leslie took a photo of me, one of my new favorites. I have to say this photo really captures me. Needle in my mouth, hands pressing linen, biker jacket on the chair, vanilla latte , hair in disarray, amulets and talismen around my neck…
I’m excited suddenly. I was dinking around this morning reading blogs and such, something I haven’t had as much time as usual to do, hanging out with some of my favorite people and something made me go look in my blog photo folder and I ran into some photos of my altar from my little house in the woods. One of the things about having your stuff in storage for over a year is that you forget what’s in those boxes. Some folks say that if you’ve done well without them, you can just send them all to the thrift store. I have to say that I haven’t done well without them. There are many things I have missed. Most of my witchy books are in storage. 80% of my altar is in storage. My tarot deck collection. I forgot some of what I had. I can hardly wait, it’s going to be like Christmas… Some of the items in this photo are things that my ex, The Forgiven, gave me. It occurs to me as I look again that I can maybe handle them now, that putting them away for a long time is a good thing. I wonder if I even have them any more. I can’t remember if I gave them away in a fit of pique or if this photo was taken after our breakup.
The stag has been replaced with a plaque of Cernunnos and some of these items are with me now like the pentagram and the moon orbs, the silver matchbox and the stone. I’m suddenly homesick and can hardly wait to see some of my old friends again. And my books. OMG, my books. I’ve acquired more since and two I had to buy again this year because I misjudged and needed them. I’m suddenly all jumpy with excitement.
As for my crafty studio, I found a few photos of that too. And realize that I did bring a lot with me and what I’m mostly missing is the fabric. Oh the glorious fabrics… Now I have a long table to lay them out. Gotta figure out what to do with my laptop, where it will live.
This project is waiting better weather and some energy. I inherited a very beat up kitchen queen. A kitchen queen is an oak cabinet that was sold with a flour grinder and sometimes a sugar grinder. If you follow the link you can see one in it’s restored glory. Mine is a slightly different model, it’s roll top cabinet is centered between the cupboards. It has a pull out enamel work table and cabinets below. Mine is moldy and dusty and full of spider egg sacs and there is a drawer that needs to be completely rebuilt. Just that will cost me a pretty penny. This one was painted a creamy color but the paint has become distressed over the years. The original latches are still on it, the stained glass is original, and the papers that are inside the upper doors are still in pristine shape, one is a sample menu from that time for a fancy dinner. This piece is a real treasure. I haven’t decided if I’m going to strip it, paint it, or just clean it up. My tradition requires me to keep my tools and materials in a rigid container and all of the ones I’ve had have become far too small. This kitchen queen is my new rigid container. Here she is in all her longing for a new life. I see myself reaching for my herbs and resins and crafting away. You can tell that my father’s mother used this cupboard well. The flour sifter was removed but for some reason the mechanism is still there. Decisions, decisions.
See how my family is? We had this garage clean 3 weeks ago and now it’s getting all piled with stuff again. I am really looking forward to the next sale we have at the end of April. I am so over all this crap. But isn’t she lovely? She has great bones. My father tried to throw her out. He’s the one who left a leaky can of some kind of stain or varnish on the enameled work top. I don’t know how much I can remove. Of all the crap he’s saved over the years the things he tried to get rid of were this cupboard, my mother’s highchair (gorgeous wood), my grandmother’s rocker. He kept a broken table and his brother’s socks which he’s been wearing every day since his brother’s death October 29, 1994. I know. There’s some crazy going on long before Alzheimer’s. Almost everything of value he has literally broken in his careless disregard for its worth while lovingly darning those bloody socks with a lightbulb and sewing thread. I won’t let him touch anything of mine and managed to save the bulk of the good furniture, some of which I have with me and some of which is coming from storage including the totally groovy high chair.
He really does break stuff and he’s a terrible handyman. He means to help but his motto is, if it won’t fit through the door or do what you want, FORCE it. So a chair loses it’s arm or he puts his foot through the caned seat of the rocker (I have this broken rocker and plan on repairing the cane) because he used it as a ladder. My mom has her own bit of crazy going on too. OMG. The story of my life. I was one of the things that got forced. I refused to conform to his will and it has made me the strong and determined woman I am today.