A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY

The wheels are in motion to finish off my new studio/workspace. Waiting for the final drawing from the builder, so I can obtain the building permit. When we built the barn, I swore I would never, ever, embark on another project that required me to obtain a building permit from Talbot County. Not user friendly. At all. Picture visiting the MVA and stabbing yourself in the eyeball with a fork. On the same day. It's like that. Anyway, we've been using this unfinished room as storage. Floor to ceiling, you can hardly walk through there, storage. In our last house we had a walk up third floor attic, we didn't need to be too discriminating about what we saved, and I really thought we did a good job of purging the excess when we moved. I was wrong. We still have too much stuff.

I don't want to just move the boxes without going through everything, because I'm sure we can pare down further. I want to save the essentials, but what a sentimental journey that has turned out to be.

Sifting through my children's school papers, I laughed and cried, and caught myself planting a kiss on more than one sweet little story or drawing, before placing it back in the "save" pile. 

There aren't just the children's things to go through. My MIL is a saver and over the years, she has passed plenty of Mike's treasures along. There is this colorful little jacket she made for him. Her first attempt at home sewing, so special on two counts.

No way I'm getting rid of that. I also have his first teddy bear. His baby shoes are on my Christmas tree. Also, his first pair of mittens.

There's plenty of evidence of my early creative journey. I painted this in high school. Not sure what I was thinking. I don't even like clowns.

In college, I gave my then boyfriend, now husband, a book about the Marx Brothers. He was a big fan. I later made this pillow, based on the cover art.

How could I get rid of that? I also have lots of love letters from those days. No email or texting of course, and we limited ourselves to one long distance call a week. It was all we could afford. You know I have to keep these. This is just a fraction of them.

Halloween costumes are another struggle for me. I made them. Every single one. They are unique. After the first couple of years, I made them without a pattern, preferring to wing it, and frankly the kids often wanted to be something unusual...a kamodo dragon, a girl being eaten by a shark. My girl was very pleased with this little Wednesday Adams dress. I have to save these. I've not given up on having a grandchild someday. No pressure. 

I took a load to the landfill and re-cycling yesterday. Today, I'm going to Goodwill, tomorrow the auction house, and then I should be done. I am not a hoarder, but I am sentimental, and curious to know what's in your attic.

I'd like to stay and talk about books (my biggest addiction), but I need to knock the mud off this girl (thanks, Abby). And then dash off to my hair appt., which will take the rest of the afternoon. Because at 57, it takes a village.

Later gators. XO.