30 days of GRATEFUL

You know those annoying people who always find the GOOD. IN. SOMETHING.!?

Yea, I'm about to become one of those. Today starts 30 days of things I'm grateful for. I don't think I'll have a problem coming up with things I'm grateful for, but I may have a hard time posting every single day.

Today, I'm grateful for arts and crafts. I live in a 3BR 2BA house and it is FULL to the brim. I'm feeling hemmed in and after watching 8 Tivo'ed episodes of A&Es Hoarders, realized I may have a borderline issue . . . so I've decided I'm going to go all Feng Shui on my shit - starting with the Craft Room. Uh-huh . . . I have a whole room devoted to crafts. It's supposed to be a guest room. It has a bed, so it barely qualifies. Every other square inch holds remnants of the many, many, many craft phases I've gone through.

Tacky plastic canvas from the 1980's? Yep, still have patterns and samples. Doll Making from the 1990's? Still have a whole box of doll hair and doll eyes. Christmas ornament bead kits? Check. Cross stitch? Check. Flower Making? Check. Embroidery? Sewing crafts? Clothes sewing? Rug making? Crocheting? Jewelry Making? Card Making? Scrapbooking? Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Name the craft and I've probably gone through a phase with it.

And now I'm throwing it away. That's right. Trash. I can hear my mother in my ear telling me that I should Sell. It. At. A. Garage. Sale.! I don't want to. I want it gone. As I survey the 6 trash bags I've filled so far, I realize that this carnage of craft history tells a story that I don't know anymore. It's the story of a lonely woman who wanted to make people love her by making them things that would be worthy of their love. I don't think I could recognize that people would love me for who I am.

I am 44 years old and I don't feel compelled to glue and sew and rhinestone my life together anymore. Some days are sparkly as a sequin and some days are knotted up like tangled embroidery floss, but I see the value in both of those creative messes. I wouldn't be able to appreciate color if some days weren't sepia toned . . . and I'll appreciate the space of my guest room now that I've known the clutter of the craft room.