|Like The Queen
Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
The only thing missing from your studio vision is the little step up "stage" (throne? altar?) complete with Golding spinning wheel and matching chair, close to the fire and the sleeping lab, but not too close so as to dry the wheel out too much.
Isn't it amazing how we fill our space until there is no more? I moved into a space that was already pretty full, but insisted on putting my own mark on it, and now it's beyond full... ugh.
Yes! that was what hit me - I didn't want to be playing with my toys in isolation from BD. I want to hear him nearby.
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Thursday, February 10, 2005 My stuff is just so darn old. My car squeals like a stuck pig every time I step on the clutch. It has lost all of its hubcaps, rolled away into ditches on foreign roads. The glove compartment doesn’t open any more so the registration is in a little cubbyhole beneath the dash board. I keep waiting for The warm blustery day that it just blows out the window.
My computer was a re-con from AT&T back in 1995 that was upgraded to Windows98 in ‘99. It freezes on you if you sneeze - catching a cold? I wonder. It is used by the man who can’t stand to click a mouse so everything he writes is in one of 4 files. Four enormous, behemoths containing several books worth of text, that will bring the system to a halt if you try to write in Word. The last of the 56K dial-ups in America will be what connects us to the Internet for the next 2 decades, so things like video and sound can go hang - and probably will - leaving me bereft of my technological umbilical cord. While there’s decent virus protection on the machine, I suspect spyware is so thick in the bowels of this machine I will be tracked by every mail-order catalog in America.
Our CD player is gummed up now too and we can only pick up satellite radio, which, fortunately, has some good classical stations on it. The last time we took the system in for a cleaning the repair man asked BD if he kept the thing in a stable. (Only, much more crudely) That is because of the wood stove - which belches out smoke when we get this marginal weather - too warm in the day for a fire, too cold at night to be without one. The chimney doesn’t stay hot so cinders build up. BD promised me, the next warm afternoon he’ll clean that out. That just might be today - while he’s driving the squealing car around to find out what’s wrong with its innards.
The radio station has played so many great new recordings, BD is all a-whoop to go shopping for NewMusic and last night he got on-line to look up what’s where and for how much. As his list grew longer and longer I questioned him about just how much $ he was planning on spending. Talk about pricking the balloon of happiness. “yeah, buying CD’s when the player isn’t working doesn’t make much sense” he sighed and dallied a little longer on-line just to prove that he didn’t stop shopping just because I said so.
* * * *
Well. Humph. I didn’t mean to complain so much. That is merely my First-Response to the computer freezing so that I had to shut it down and while I waited for it to scandisk I walked around grumbling about all the other inconveniences in my life like: I have no place to put my fiber things in an orderly way so I own 4,000 tapestry needles and can’t find any of them and I need one to fix the crapola mistake I made in the lace cardigan.
What I need is a studio!!! A big airy room with lots of light and beautiful shelves and a big table and cabinets specifically fitted for my things and wired for speakers and with a fireplace and a big Labrador dog lying on the rug before it.
Yeah! Don’t you think I need that? Yes. I thought you did.
Actually I have yearned for “my own space” for ever. It’s what made me build the garden. It was always open to all, but it belonged to me, so nobody dared tell me how to "do it better." I might still be satisfied with that if I hadn’t developed middle age allergy syndrome. If I don’t make it through this spring without developing bronchitis, I will dig the whole thing up and plant a boxwood garden. Imagine looking at 40 rose bushes all abloom and thinking “god I wish those flowers were gone”. But when your chest feels like it’s actually a coal furnace and your eyes are swollen to twice their size - flowers are not attractive.
Anyway - in 2000 I drew up a modest little wall unit with a desk and some shelves, a drop down craft table and some drawers and showed it to BD. “Could you make me this?”
The answer to that was yes. The answer to “Would you make me this” was a long prevarication and idleness.
How glad I am for that answer too, because what I’d sketched was so far below what I need, but had he made it for me I could never have felt comfortable about asking for a whole studio - which I did just recently.
Actually, I told him I needed it about a year and a half ago and he flinched. I knew it was too soon to ask for it, but he and LD had started talking about building a boat shed and I knew I better get in there with my priority claim quick. Besides, I’m a gardener and I know about planting seeds. But I brought it up again the other day and in a different context. Our house is actually only 3/4ths finished. When it was designed it had a living room and an additional upstairs bedroom off the west end. We built what we could pay for at the time, and, thinking eventually we’d have so many kids we’d really need the rest, counted on the future to take care of that. Our future never included any more children, though. What we had was pretty close to enough space for anything but a winter time party for more than 20 people. $ did not flow swiftly through our coffers. We were comfortable and content.
But we are at a different stage in life now. We have the $ to make the addition. But now there are only 2 of us - the need for space is actually less than it was when there were 3. Unless one looks in the den at my fiber stash, packed, stuffed, and all but useless, because there is no way to organize it. Or if one looks at the dining room table where all the knitting projects are heaped. Or if one looks at the pile by my bed. Or the shelves in LD’s old bedroom. Durn it, my stuff is all over the house, but shoved into by-the-way spaces. Some how we got to talking about the addition to the house and I suggested we build it and give me the downstairs as a studio. “That way, I can be near you when I’m working on my stuff instead of in a building outdoors, shut away from you.”
Hey, do I know how to talk to this guy?
It’s true, though. A separate building would mean we’d be struggling all the time about how to pursue our separate activities without having separate lives. It’s okay when it means I bring home a paycheck. That is sort of just the way life is. That is work time. But when our play time sets up into the conflict of time together vs. time doing what we want, the goal ought to be integration. For the first time he actually responded in a positive, creative - even excited- tone of voice. So. Who knows? The living room that goes with the rest of this house would make a fabulous studio. Furnished appropriately it could double as a living room for big gatherings or just as another comfortable place to be. It would be big enough to hold classes in. Hmm. A retirement business? Who knows? Maybe. Thoughts worth thinking about....
And who ever knows what muse will prompt me when I sit down to write the day’s entry? I had thought to write about my Lenten decisions, but they were fairly meager. My choice? Chocolate.
A very brief word here about that before I must dash off to work.
I like chocolate. I don’t consider myself a chocolate freak or a chocoholic or any other excessive descriptive designation. I like it. BUT. I also eat it every day. Yes. Every Single Day I have something chocolate. It’s usually small but it’s always there. So maybe I am a chocolate freak. I don’t actually know. But since what I am looking for is something that will force me to pause, to consider what it means to feel the pinch of sacrifice, to give thanks for my rich life, and then to get back to work in a more grateful frame of mind - this daily partaking of chocolate seemed to be the perfect choice.
So. Who’da thought?
Now, off to work for me!
posted by Bess | 8:04 AM