getting a handle

The little hutch that could

My great-great-great grandfather built a corner hutch for his daughter, Anna. As his work day came to a close, he sawed and sanded, no doubt working well into the night by light of a kerosene lamp. The workmanship proves the love poured into each smooth line, each scalloped edge. Sadly, when Anna died, no one much cared for the poor hutch. It sat alone and abandoned, until my great grandmother, Etta Mae, saved it. She and her husband stored it in their old barn until they moved to “the city;” the little corner hutch had a home, once again.

Loved ever since, it now resides in my living room, meek and unassuming . . .

Yet something dastardly lurked behind its doors . . .

Many somethings to be precise; basically, anything that would fit . . .

I would just like to take a moment to explain: this house offers wretched storage space–what little is available is often misshapen, requiring contortions to retrieve anything actually stored there. Naturally, I would like to blame it all on this fact, but who are we kidding? And while I’ve learned to grab what I need without throwing the piles off kilter, I knew the time had come to face the misery head-on.

Obviously, God never intended me to be a DIY blogger–I cannot take a good photo indoors to save my life and I always forget the interim photos. So I’ll simply sum my goings-on: I took out, I sorted (keep, rid, donate), I carefully replaced what remained.

So it was my hutch came to look like this . . .

Perfect? Not likely. But I like to think it’s a little closer to what it was intended: the safe keeping of those things that make for lazy morning coffees, impromptu afternoon teas, large family gatherings–the things that bring and keep us together.

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This post was inspired by Jules, of Pancakes & French Fries, and her William Morris Project. Basically, she has committed to living according the William Morris quote, “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” She’s inviting us to do the same. After all, living with intent is the only way to live.

 

Freak of nature

Happy June – can you even believe?  The year is half over already!  I don’t know about you but I continue trudging toward goals set for the year; not doing a splendid job reaching any of them mind you, but trudging all the same.  This morning, for example, was strength training.  I was informed on Friday that we were meeting at my cousin’s house … something about circuit training … and running … I don’t know, but it sounded somewhat alarming.  This morning I received an email from my cousin.  The subject line read, “Don’t freak out!”  I don’t know where she got the idea I’d be freaking out.  WHO’S FREAKING OUT?!!!!  She continued to say she changed things up a bit – no more running to the park – we’d just meet there.  Okay.  She’s meeting me half-way, surely I can do the same, right?  So I change my clothes, grab my water bottle, and head out.

Now here’s the thing – you know how things look so much bigger when you’re young?  In your mind’s eye you remember such-and-such being SO large, but when you revisit as an adult, it’s nothing of the sort.  The last time I visited Camel’s Back Park I was young; and all I remember of the place is this ginormous hill.  Well, I drive up this morning, and the hill was even bigger than I remember.  It was  HUGE … mountainous even … and my group was at the base, getting ready to run up.  Who does that?!  Obviously not me.  I scrunched down in my seat to avoid being seen and quickly drove away.

Then the weirdest thing happened.  A craving for hashbrowns smote me.  Before I knew it I was beneath the Golden Arches {insert angels singing here}.  All things considered, it’s a beautiful way to start a new month.

Something different

Cats are a lot like royalty.  They’re all about protocol.  If anything deviates from said protocol you’re in trouble.  Today served a fine example…

After spending some quality time in dressing rooms over the weekend, I decided there’s a slight possibility exercising twice a week isn’t quite cutting it.  So I hauled my poor, pitiful self out of bed this morning to exercise.  My cats ambled into the room, took one look, and froze in their tracks.  Now I understand that I’m not exactly the picture of grace when I work out, but this – this was pure and utter terror.  Their eyes were as big as saucers; their ears were back.  They were crouched and ready to bolt at the first sign of attack.  I am, after all, the girl who sits on her butt all day in front of the computer; if I am exercising WHO KNOWS WHAT COULD HAPPEN NEXT!!!

I tried to explain.  “I’m exercising – people do it all the time … ”  It did nothing to squelch their fears.  As a matter of fact, they appeared all the more concerned.  Teenie eyed me all the more suspiciously; Mr. Bean jumped up and sprinted down the hall.

I haven’t seen him since.

Something tells me this may be a bad sign…