My Therapist

Being creative is such a strong driving force in my life. Recently I have discovered that it is really a question of which comes first: the chicken or the egg. If I am in a bad mood, having a gloriously hellish week, or just feeling exhausted, being creative always pulls me out of my funk and back into reality. It literally feeds me. Or is it that my lack of being creative, ultimately causes my funk, exhaustion, and hellish feelings? I'm a tortured artist, what can I say?

This week has been a particularily grand pile of excrement and I gleaned from my cache of fabric that I had purchased from Boersma's in McMinnville to help me through. I then put on a Pandora station that I can actually sing to, The Dixie Chicks. I think I can sing, but I'm not really sure if people are just being nice, or it's true. But evidently I channel Natalie Maines quite well and Amy Lee is my avatar when I am belting it out on Rock Band...of course I pull off a mean Pussy Cat Dolls impression if I hear Don't Cha...they didn't call me "stripper" my senior year in Dance Team for my skimpy clothes...;0)

I digress...

This pile of fabric, once covered my dining room chairs.

They had seen better days for sure and I had about had it with scrubbing them. So I set to work pulling out all of these

That took be the better part of the day.

This is the end product...8 chair pads covered in burlap...I kid you not. The burlap was actually in good condition, but I had a rich velvet with powder blue and cream just waiting for my large rump to sink into.

This stuff is like butta!

I only got 4 done before I ran out of staples...looks like I'm headed to the hardware store tomorrow.

Of course, the big stink is still around and I catch a wiff of it now and then, but it's just so darn hard to focus on it when your cutting velvet and you know that your dining room will look so fabulous in the end.

One of the minor wiffs is the fact that my daughter has shingles. She is handling it like a trooper...she is just like her mother. I'm being completely literal. At 17, I had shingles in the same exact nerve path. Looks like I gave her more than just my food allergies, excema, and sassy stubborn attitude. Hope she'll forgive me someday when she gets to channel all the really good things about being just like me...like her creativity.

Do what you love. Know your own bone; gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw it still.
Henry David Thoreau