Projects

I never know what to write when I actually sit down to accomplish something. Do I write about my family, who are always entertaining? Or my personal love story, starring my absolutely gift from God husband? How about a book about my dad, who is ever inspiring? Or my great grandparents, who were weathered, rural, and lived well into their eighties? How does one choose what to write about? There are so many days where I think to myself, I need a project. Really Erin? Have you looked around? Your house was built sometime before 1925 and you think you need a project? Paint, plaster, clean for God’s sake. Right. Obviously, someone as busy as me does not have time to empty out and scrub the kitchen cupboards. Projects are different. My husband would entirely agree. He believes that my “projects” are black holes where great ideas go to never be seen or heard from again. Projects are not things so simple as cleaning out the cabinets or accomplishing a scrubbed down bathroom. That would be too easy, and too clean. Normally, when I decide to start a project, I get about ½ to ¾ of the way through before I become distracted and take up something else. For example, I had these great maple chairs that my grandmother gave me for my teensy tiny apartment in college. She had painted them pink and when they arrived at my house, I coated them in 17 coats of black paint. Unfortunately, I didn’t sand them first and so they dried tacky and I eventually peeled off much of the paint. When I moved in with my boyfriend-now-husband, I decided that they needed to be sanded down and refinished. My husband, being the ever handy carpenter type, provided me with a hand sander and tools. He was even kind enough to give me a respirator mask. Unfortunately, as is his usual style, he provided little to no instruction assuming that his brilliant wife would already know how to do this. Ha. After finishing one chair my hands were so sore I couldn’t grip a pencil for a week. When I took up the second chair about a month later, my husband was kind enough to mention that I was doing it all wrong. He then showed me the proper way to sand. Who would have thought that you have to go at the pace of a slug? Seriously, I do not have time for that. So, after finding out that it was much more intricate and time consuming than I had first thought, I burned the chairs. Don’t tell grandma.