|I’m working on it!
My newfound extra time has allowed me the opportunity to clean out areas of my house I haven’t been able to get to for awhile. I have closets full of stuff I literally stuck in there so I didn’t have to look at it scattered about in the house.
It’s ironic really, I mean, we laugh about my daughter and how she cleans her room by throwing everything in her closet. So when she proudly announces, “look, I cleaned my room.” She is also saying, Do.NOT.look.in.the.closet!
I guess I have been doing the same thing for years. Don’t know where to put this basket? I’ll just tuck it in the hall closet. I’ll remember where I put it when I need it. This quart of paint I don’t feel like trucking to the basement? Hall closet. The extra printer supplies for the printer with no ink?
Yup. Hall closet. Now where did I put that basket that time…?
I have a pretty big house. And the people who built it did a great job with storage. I have a lot of closets and cabinet space. Over these years as I picked up behind the kids or found shit I wasn’t ready to donate, I just stuck it in one of the many storage spots I had all around the house.
If I don’t have to look at it, it doesn’t exist and if I don’t have to look at it, I can resume control of my life with a clean house and less stress. I adapted the ‘Whatever Works’ philosophy.
Except it’s really still there. The stress, I mean. The stress of knowing the hall closet and the bathroom closet and pantrys and every nook and cranny is full of crap that EVENTUALLY is going to need to be cleaned out. Those things, piled up, are really still in the back of my mind.
*Ohhh Dennnissse* (It’s the musical voice from inside my head) when are you going to get to cleaning out those closets and moving that crap to the basement? And then when are you going to clean out the basement and take all that crap to Goodwill??? I am writing this as I look at my white board that also lists “clean out upstairs closet.” Like I literally need to nag MYSELF. (As you can see, I also need to clean the top of my kitchen cabinets. They get really dusty and gross. Especially when they haven’t been wiped in like, 10 years…)
And so here I am, again, unemployed and FINALLY I have time to go through all the CRAP I have collected over the years. And what do I do? I spend precious cleaning time reflecting because, of course there are so many things to look at as that cleaning out the closet becomes an all-day affair. There are pictures the kids drew, cards they made for me, old photos, and of course, the old slate book.
The ‘old slate book’? Well, funny you should ask. It’s kind of a long story, but it is all connected. You may also be asking what this WorDSMITHstudios business is all about and why I said I am ‘back at blogging,’ when you only read my first post last week.
|Me looking like I can barely
fit through the bathroom door.
Well, a few confessions:
1. I have a shop on Etsy.
2. This is not my first painting gig.
3. This is not my first blog.
Not wildly surprising? A bit of history for those just checking in:
I first started painting when I was pregnant with my daughter. That was 1999. Y2K was a thing and many thought the world was going to end. My husband and I were happy and healthy, living at and managing at a small camping resort in Western Maine. (papoosepondresort.com).
We didn’t believe the world was going to end (sometimes the dangerously optimistic thing can rub off), so we got pregnant.
Not only was I pregnant, but I was ENORMOUSLY pregnant. Imagine a summer filled with all the ice-cream and candy and pizza you want literally RIGHT AT YOUR FINGERTIPS and available anytime, steps away from your front door. Then imagine the freedom from guilt that comes when you are pregnant–I mean, you’re going to get fat anyway. Why not eat what you want? I spent that glorious summer getting back at every morsel of food that ever made me feel guilty when it crossed my lips.
Actually, I hadn’t been a parent yet, so it was before I knew was guilty felt like.
It was *BLISS*
The consequence? 60 pounds gained and pre-eclampsia 7 months in. The doc didn’t go so far as to put me on bedrest, but I was pulled from working and ordered to stay off my feet as much as possible.
Kinda like bedrest, but not bedrest. Makes sense.
As I type this I am 45. (And unemployed–as if you could forget). I am a Type A personality, but I would say I have chilled a lot over the years. Back in my Papoose Pond days, when I was 27, I hadn’t experienced what it was like to have kids. Kids help you realize there are some things that are worth stressing over in the moment and somethings you put in a closet to worry about later.
These days, my Type A corners are a little more rounded than they were when I was 27. Experience softens the edges, blurs the lines, makes everything a little less rigid. When I was 27, I was mad about everything, stressed about everything, YELLED about everything, fought everything. And I wasn’t the type to sit around much. I was still figuring it out. I was a happy person… pretty much. I was fun. I WAS.
Anyway, my husband and I were trying to find me something to do to occupy my Type A+ personality and still follow the doctor’s orders. My husband was trying VERY hard because as you can imagine, I also was still learning how not to take my frustration out on him. (I’m still working on that one.)
A trip to the resort’s craft barn resulted in some stone slate, transfer paper, paintbrushes, and acrylic paints. I was to find a picture I liked, trace it onto the slate, and paint the picture.
Now, I had never done any painting. Except for walls and I sucked (still suck) at that. It never fails. I always roll too high and get an entire roller mark on the ceiling. Or put too much paint on the roller and drip all over the baseboards. When I use painter’s tape, paint always gets under the tape–I don’t get that—and if I don’t then, you guessed it, baseboards and trim get marked all up. I end up doing two paint jobs– the walls and the trim, which of course never looks the same.
Buuuut, hey. This was going to be different. And when you’re bored the way that I was bored–the Type A+ way—you grit your teeth and paint as closely in the lines of whatever the heck you traced as you can. I can’t even remember what I painted, but I remember when I was done, it was pretty good!
Who needs Bob Ross?
So I just kept painting. Corey dug out what was left of those slates in the craft barn and I went to town. I wrote WELCOME on them and painted one for everyone I knew. Then I started taking photos of what I made, printing the page, and putting it in a binder. The binder, aka, The Slate Book or Denise’s Slates, became 2-inches thick. People could flip through and choose what they wanted. Then, Order UP! I would make it for them. I charged like $20 a piece.
For 2 years I paid for our Christmas and other odds & ends with the money I earned from painting slates.
|A commission I did; a small old photo
transferred to an oil canvas.
Photo is on the right.
Then one day, I was painting 3 of the same slate, side by side sweatshop style. I vividly remember looking down at those paintings–it was a holiday theme and had a group of holiday characters together- Uncle Sam, a snowman, Santa, the Easter Bunny–and saying, “THIS sucks.”
And that was it.
I didn’t paint again for a long time. Then I randomly started to do a few commissions for people; painting pictures of people from photographs. Then I messed around with some oil paints. But nothing consistent.
And then my husband got laid off from his job. And WorDSMITHstudios was born.
A lot happened in between. Like how I sucked as a stay at home mom. How I pretty much sucked as a mom all-around most of my daughter’s first 3 years. Poor kid. How I discovered my passion for working with youth. Had another kid. Learned I might not have been such a bad mom after all. Started a blog I LOVED, then used really poor judgement and had to give it up. Read Eat, Pray, Love for the first time and felt blown away. Learned what it means to be a compassionate person. Realized the mistakes and failures I have experienced in my life were not something to be ashamed of, but to embrace because life is about growth.
Oh wait– *sigh* I just realized McKenna learned her ifyoucantseeit room cleaning trick from me. The closet thing? Great.
Yeah, we can talk about all that.
Bangor, ME 04401, USA