Posted in "Daily" pages Life
Making a home is about telling a series of stories. Creating little vignettes like, “The travel mugs should go on this shelf here next to the sink, where you can easily grab one and go” and “I want that painting hung here, where I can see it when I’m working, and that other one over by the treadmill, so I can be inspired by it when I’m working out.”
The longer I’m at this moving and reintegrating my life game, the more of this family mythos I build up. One of my earlier bits is the “sharp things drawer.” All of the kitchen objects which are not knives but have sharp edges or points go in the same drawer. The family knows when they want skewers or a pizza cutter or a potato peeler to look in the sharp things drawer.
When we move into a new space it’s not a question of figuring out where the potato peeler goes, we determine where the whole drawer fits. In this house it’s above the tea drawer, which in turn is above the bags and wraps, which is above the glass baking dishes. In the last house those drawers were mostly the same, except the bottom drawer held the tea towels and pot holders. In this house that drawer makes more sense in the stack of drawers with the flatware, junk drawer, and kitchen gadget drawer, because of the positions of the oven and sink.
This house is smaller than the previous one having two bedrooms instead of three and generally a smaller footprint, and far smaller than the rambling old 5 bed 4 story affair I owned in Philadelphia. That house had far more space than we had stories, and entire rooms went weeks without a person crossing their threshold. But this house is enough space, and has such a glorious view.
It’s lovely all day long, and at night is breathtaking. It still catches me by surprise every time I notice it, and I always find something new when I look, in the way the current is moving in Elliott Bay, or the configuration of the clouds and sky and mountains. I hope that never stops; if I ever start taking this for granted I’ll know its time to move again. I find that hard to imagine however, since after two and a half years I could still find new things to notice out the office window overlooking my garden. Right now there’s a tug slowly pulling a barge. The clouds are low and ominous, obscuring the top of the sky scrapers. Dawn was a non-event this morning; no paintbox colors, just a slow transition from dark to dim.
The big new story I’m telling in this house, though, is this one: “I’m a fiber artist.” When I made the last home I was a knitter, and set up the space for that, but I wasn’t yet at the point of creating with the art. Now I’m planning a book and have written patterns and am looking forward to a time when I can support myself with this pursuit. I’m introducing myself to my neighbors as a fiber artist. I’ve set up my primary workspace with the fiber tools integrated into it, instead of relegated to the basement. I’ve always favored an L-shaped desk, and the return here is my sewing table. To my right is my primary spinning wheel. My drum carders are on the shelf above the desk, and the tech books are on the bookcase across the room.
I’m using the space to tell a new story about who I am. This morning, surveying my space and watching the water taxi carrying David to work, I am very much enjoying this new story and looking forward to what comes next.