My Dad’s home office at one time was a scene out of one of the hoarding television shows. He added more and more stuff without ever cleaning or throwing out the useless software or books or typing ribbons or cameras, etc., that he brought to the room in the late 1970’s. Finally I have persevered and have thrown out most of his treasures. Dad’s room of chaos is now my creativity room. But the room is not finished or static and will always continue to evolve. Sometimes the room feels organized and sometimes it feels like I am tipping the scale back to the time of Dad’s clutter, yet my interior decorating scheme goes from modern to surrounding myself with furniture that reminds me of my hippie years. The goal is to make the room feel comfy and peaceful, serene but with a lot for a first time visitor to view. No visitors though until the ancient smelly green wall to wall carpeting is removed and replaced with beige tiles that have a mix of brown and whites and grays.
In the closet are pictures and paintings to hang on the walls soon, as well as two Shetland Sheepdogs pictures made from stained glass. Tucked away in the closet and bookshelves are boxes of yarn and beads and beading patterns, as well as notebooks filled with my old journals that I carefully typed into a computer and printed out, all neatly organized into big notebooks. Despite my attempt to be organized sometimes I harbor some of my Dad’s genes and put new items away in odd spots, things which I will discover months later when the cleaning bug hits. My need for organization and subsequent cleaning usually happens after spending an hour fruitlessly looking for something.
My latest project is a cotton thread filet crocheted doily that is interspersed with beads into the design of hearts. The pattern is called Beaded Heart Trio from an April 2000 Crochet Fantasy magazine. This was the first time I’ve combined beads and thread while crocheting doilies and I’m anxious to make more.
It was hard to figure out how to showcase my doilies. I looked online at wooden drying racks but decided they would take up too much room and would only collect dust. Then it dawned on me to reuse my grandmother’s antique small wooden chest of drawers to hold all my doilies. Over time I can change out the doily that rests on top of the chest.
Now to find a small end table to put next to Dad’s big old and worn leather rocking chair. The chair is great for reading so of course I’ll need a table to hold my coffee. My next thought was that the eventual table will need a mosaic tile top, made by me, and no, I’ve never worked with mosaic tile. This may be an excellent excuse to learn.
There was one decision that was easy to make. The room will not have a television to distract me, upset me or bore me. The creativity room will be a place where my imagination can be free and uninterrupted. The only sounds will come from my IPod’s Pandora music app or from the floor where my dogs and cat snore or stretch or twitch.
The creativity room is also my reward room, a place to go after my chores are done and the dogs are trained and worn out from running in the back yard. They have now become accustomed to sleeping under one of the tables while I type on the computer or knit. Eventually the cat, Essie, joins us, choosing to either hide in the closet or sprawl in the middle of the floor. I had thought that the cat or one of the dogs would jump up on the leather chair. But that chair is reserved for Catcher when he returns for boarding, an unspoken arrangement that my animals have made.
The craft table is set up so I can watch the sun setting over the trees in the back yard. Eventually the darkness outside shrouds me and I am cocooned inside. As the clock ticks the cat stretches and meows and goes to my bedroom. Tommie is already there before her. The other dogs become restless too. They keep me on a strict schedule. I am not allowed late night crafting or computer surfing.
As we all curl up together in bed, the cat and Razzie are almost snuggled together. Tom jumps down, upset that the stinky cat is touching her. Bodie has quickly taken his spot on the floor. Ultimately one dog, Razzie, licks my hand as we both listen to the cat purr. I sleep and dream about bead embroidery patterns and learning to sew tablecloths for my crafting and computer tables. The dogs sometimes wake me up as they twitch and whine, no doubt chasing whatever wild creatures run across their dreamscape. I wonder if they see a red fox or gray squirrels or is everything in their mind’s eye a drab black and white. If only I could draw their dreams, I wonder, as I fall back asleep. But that’s another project to enter in my memo book in the creativity room. Another day, another reward.