The other day, Molly and I were talking and, as is often the case, the TV show, Hoarders, came up. Now, Molly and I spend a good bit of time assuring ourselves that, despite our poor housekeeping, we are not hoarders. In this particular conversation, we agreed that we couldn’t possibly be hoarders because we don’t like to shop.
However, as I was talking, I looked around my living room and, in doing so, I had to remind myself that I can’t seem to get rid of anything that I have glued, snipped, sewn, or thrown. And the worst news is that I give away or sell the good stuff. It’s the failures that I keep and use in my home décor.
On my kitchen floor sit two bowls I made when I was part of a pottery class. One of the bowls was so ugly, I went back and tried gluing small ceramic tiles to it. The bowls are on the floor because I use them for my cat’s water. My cat has been dead for two years.
Hanging on my living room wall are two purses I created during my obsessive purse-making stage. Apparently they are hanging next to my front entry in case I need an ugly purse in a hurry on my way out the door.
Speaking of purses, I have two that I knitted (in my knitting era) hanging next to my computer desk in case I want to put my computer in a knitted purse, I guess.
Just recently, I’ve discovered the craft of making flowers out of organza circles. The best thing about them is that you burn the edges of the circles with a candle, which gives them somewhat of a last year's prom corsage look. I gave a few away to the very tolerant people with whom I work, but, alas, the others are now adorning a couple of my lamps and one ceiling light fixture.
Oh dear, I almost forgot my pillow-making phase. About ten years ago, I made pillows out of reclaimed tea towels and table cloths. I'm proud to say that I sold quite a few of them. However, the leftovers are with me to this day, still attached to their little tags, in case somebody stops by and wants to buy one.
Finally, there's the wire angel on a shelf near me and the three pound pitcher I made out of clay sitting on my desk. I remember my pot-throwing instructor telling me that you can tell the worth of pottery by how light it is. Speaking of the worth of pottery, I also remember offering Molly one of my creations as a gift. I told her she could choose and she did. She chose the one piece not made by me.
And so, I make do with what's left, fashioning my own unique style and living in the luxury of my own creation.