Saturday, October 29, 2011

Repurposed Goodness

Yesterday and I wrestled like we were Olympians. I rolled out of bed with the Sours 'cause I was in pain. I slept on too many pillows. It didn't help that I didn't get to the PT appointment. They don't take new clients on Fridays. Well, duh. Tell a sister ahead of time. So, as I was calmly relating to you, I woke knowing I wouldn't make it to the post office. Instead, I chose to start winterizing the room where I do most of my living.

There were serious dust bunnies squatting atop my headboard. The chest of drawers, the window sill, the picture frames. Okay, they were pretty much everywhere. They replicate right after JC changes the a/c filters, or maybe I only notice them when it's time to dust. There's no telling what flew in after we opened the windows yesterday. It was too nice and cool not too. The day was perfect; besides, the wind was blowing, and the a/c begged to be turned off.

I tell you, it was like Mom Nature came through with a dust mop, a vacuum, and a host of Merry Maids. I've gotten good at vacuuming with my left arm. A smart sister would have had JC do it "'cause my arm hurts too much." Talk about being slow.

Halfway through the cleaning flurry I heard whisperings. You know I had to stop and listen, right? So I did. The Kleenex box said it was shivering. Said it felt naked and vulnerable, useless and . . . Poor old thing. I had to stop working and start creating. The rest of this story is simple. See?

I bought a box of Kleenex paper towel wipes, or whatever they're called, a while back. They are meant to be placed upside down over a towel rack, then you pull down a sheet. You know what I mean--just like a dispenser in the ladies room. Only my towel rack is over the  toilet, and I don't want to use a paper towel that gets sprayed every time someone flushes. Well, you never know. I've seen those tests with blue water.

So, I left the box right side up on the counter. When it was empty I couldn't just toss such a well-made, lovely box that had such potential. I kept it in a visible location until yesterday: atop my chest of drawers. However, several months ago I decided to use it for mail.

Yes. Incoming and outgoing. Couldn't decide which, so I went where the spirit took me. If I used it for Letters-That-Have-Been-Answered, it filled much too fast. That meant I had to empty it sooner than later. I decided to use it for postcards only. They're too short. Using the box for outgoing mail was almost okay, except for the shorties. Some lay lined up flush against the interior and I'd miss one or two.

I don't know about you, but I feel so guilty when I ditch cleaning for creating. I feel like a good Tom Sawyer--not the clever-clever one who got his buds to do his fence-painting for him. It wasn't like that when I asked JC if he would mail a stack of outgoing, and check my p. o. box. I don't like to drive after I've taken medication. He's so nice sometimes. Okay, he knows if my arm is in pitching order I'm going to make a great dinner. I always have weekends off, and turn out a great feed bag on Sundays. He didn't mind at all. So why do I feel a twinge of guilt every time I think about it?

Since he wouldn't be around to witness my mutiny (See? The truth will have its way. Guilty as charged.), I got busy. This is what went on:

It was so much like cutting fabric without a pattern. Okay, I had a template. I took apart the seams, scanned a sheet of 12 x 12 scrapbooking paper with mail  related prints. I trimmed, glued, used my rotary cutter. I folded, pressed edges, and designed on the fly. Like this:

I taped, too.

I did some fitting.

Some eyeballing.

I smiled.

I ended up with this. Couldn't find the strips of postal related embellishments, but maybe I can replace this sill strip when I do. The stamp is a place holder of sorts.

Now, all I have to do is decide what type of mail will call it home. I'll take photos after I hang it outside my door. 

As if that's not enough for one day, this happened:

I picked up mail on Thursday after I picked up a prescription. The post office is on the way to the pharmacy. I wouldn't have gone again until Moanday, yet something kept urging me to go to the post office. No way. Not after taking meds. So, I broke protocol and asked JC if he would go for me. He did, bless his heart. (I am still working this angle in an attempt to assuage my guilt.) He came home with two pieces of mail. Be still my heart!


Only teasers. There is so much more!
Evidence of why it is always important
to listen, and obey
the urgent whispers.

Thank you, dear Elle, dear Pen Thief. It's eerie how the color combinations match. I picked up the book when I was torn over which one to use my 15% off coupon on. Said I'd get it later, and bought something else instead. I sent Misty a postcard I've been holding onto since 2008. It was for "The Good Thief." She sent the "Language of Flowers" in return. Imagine that.

You know I cried. I showed my gifts to JC. Oh, the scent! Elle, the scent! It was the first thing he commented on. Most artificial scents make me sick, but not this. Those bees. Oh, those bees! And the stamps! Girl, I could hug you 'til you spoke a mother tongue. Seems  you and Misty blessed me with commissioned works of art that I can never afford. I am going to keep the jack-o'-lantern out until Christmas. :) I feel blessed, and special, and men just don't get why women sometimes cry. He tried though, bless his heart. He came close to patting my hand.  

This isn't the end. I am going to show every page. Elle, you are elemental to this day's perfection. Misty, I owe you so much mail, so many thank-yous . . . I hope my big gift pays off part of my debt. Love y'all!

P.S. I know this is too long, but I can't seem to stop. :) Thank you.


  1. Love the paper you used to cover it, very clever use :)

  2. Love what you did with the tissue box! What a clever woman you are!