For as long as I can remember I've been interested in DIY. Of course, this was before it was popular or cool, back when it was considered a) being frugal or b) being socially awkward. Since I was both to some degree growing up this worked out just fine. At age 7, after discovering a White Owl cigar box in our basement, I decided to carve a bar of Ivory into that particular avian shape. I was very proud of it until someone in the house had the nerve to wash with it! At 9 years old, during a stint in the hospital, I glued miniature paper flowers to the inside of shells and found it immensely satisfying. At 12, I made a pillow, an apron and a pine cone wreath in the 4-H. I still have the apron. I joined the crafting club in high school, where we embroidered and created tin crafts. (Did I mention I wasn't real popular?)
Then I discovered dating and my crafty shenanigans fell by the wayside for awhile, to resurface some years later with an obsession with stripping and staining all the furniture I could get my hands on. And since that time I have painted the occasional table (and I mean that in both senses), hot-glued ribbon to the odd lampshade, created the random art piece from old calendars. But for a period my creative joy centered on organizational, decluttering, feng shui-ing pursuits and actual DIY was a neglected puppy waiting for love.
Well, I'm glad to say that something got my mojo working again and I'm not gonna let that puppy down! I only tell you this to prepare you for the possible beauty and certain catastrophe that lies ahead. You've been warned.
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