Just Call Me Peggy

And so continues the craft room saga. Today I decided to focus on the walls and make myself a pegboard for organization. Actually, I lie... it was a two day affair and it wasn't so much about organization as it was about wanting something pretty and the fact I had seen this on Pinterest. So I'll spare you the how-to details because I did exactly what I do with most things in life... I copied someone else.

When it came to the supplies, however, I got creative. I got the pegboard from the scrap bin at the hardware store. You know what's nice about the scrap bin of the hardware store? You ask "how much", they say "twelve dollars" and when you say "no way" they say "okay, how about $5?". Sold! It was the perfect size and, sure, it had a rather big scratch on it but it's pegboard... I just used the other side. Besides, I might end up painting it some day so it really didn't matter.

When it came to accessories I decided to keep it on the cheap and headed to the dollar store. I found a wire utensil basket and some plastic little baskets that will work wonderfully for the likes of markers, pencil crayons and paint brushes. I also found these plastic cups. A bargain at 3 for a dollar. And, yes, I did buy 2 sets solely to get more pink cups. Don't judge!


After some trial and error (mostly error) I found the best way to drill the holes needed for hanging the cups on the pegs was to first put masking tape on the cup. Not only did this prevent cracking but it had the added benefit of acting as a guide as to where to drill:


I then started with a small bit and progressively got bigger. Actually, that's a lie. I first tried using the big bit right off the go. This resulted in a squished cup and a lot of smoke (not a surprise, coming from me). What can I say, I'm a strong she-man. And, yes, I know what you're thinking.. I should clearly be a hand model:

In the end I used 3 bits: (Shave and a hair cut? Two bits!)


And then?!?!?!? I put them on the hooks! I love them!


The only 'problem'? The room is actually too organized. Between bookcases, shelves, ribbon storage and now the pegboard... I have nothing to put in the cups. Fear not, I'll come up with something.

I'm thinking candies and bon bons...

It Isn't Rocket Science... or is it?!?

In creating my craft room I decided to 'pull a Pinterest' (Patent pending on that trademarked phrase... yes, I know that doesn't make sense) and make myself an island. I dabble in stained glass and my back always ends up getting sore because I'm too lazy dedicated to sit down while cutting glass knowing I'll just have to walk over to the grinder on my now-turquoise workbench after each piece is cut. So I figured the height of an island would be perfect... not to mention all the extra workspace and storage!

And how does one create an island, you might ask? By folding a Strawberry Shortcake blanket, circa 1982, into various lengths and widths and moving it all over the damn room... of course.

After deciding on the size and position of the island I got assembled the necessary bookcases (courtesy of Martha, Martha, Martha!) and bought a melamine topper... which I had the friendly folk at the hardware store cut into 2 pieces not only so I would have the option of having 2 smaller workstations in the future (perhaps in an L configuration against 2 adjoining walls) but mainly so I could get it home in my car. Never mind the fact I had to drive home with my window open. In the winter. In the middle of the Canadian prairies. Brrrrr!

Some assembling, a lot of leveling (stupid basement floor!) and a few brackets later... and here she is:

Now all I have to do is fill it... and use it! Next up? A spot for sewing!

When a Workbench isn't a Workbench...

One of the nice things about being single is not having to share my home with anyone else (with the except of the space currently being occupied by my cousin, who's staying with me while she's in school). I used to think my home was empty, lonely and depressing. Now I consider it to be my refuge. My quiet place. My haven. If being a hermit paid well (or at all) I might never leave it at all. And while one person may not need an 1100 square foot home with 2 bedrooms (plus den/sunroom) and a finished (a term I use loosely) basement it's nice to have lots of room to be frivolous with. After all, what single girl doesn't need a sewing/stained glass room, am I right?!?

Right...

But none of this is my fault. I blame Pinterest for the fact I'm dedicating an entire room to crafting. With lilac walls, turquoise accents and a reading nook. And for turning this:


And these:

Into these:

And this:

Not gonna lie... I LOVE it!

Thanks, Pinterest! I'm sure I won't be singing your praises when it comes to putting all the crap back in the room.

Along For The Ride

There's something about car rides that intrigues me. Perhaps it's the notion of going somewhere or being able to get from point A to point B at the drop of a hat and a tank of gas. Or perhaps it's the way it feels to be in your own little world, singing along to the radio or beating the steering wheel like a drum, all the while watching the world fly by, knowing that you're the one who's actually doing the flying.

I like the way it feels to have the ground pass beneath you with nothing more than a floor mat and piece of steel between you and the open road. I like the way you can feel the rumble strips and speed bumps without ever having to touch them, making the whole situation feel like "The Princess and the Pea". I like the way it feels to get out of the car, at long last, and stretch your legs and reach for the sky, a feeling that seems to say "I've finally made it".

I like how road trips sound happy and light. With rarely a negative connotation. With imagery that includes buying snacks for the road, making playlists to listen to and saving things to talk about on the way. I love the sunlight that casts a shadow as it passes trough the trees that go by, flickering to the tune of the tires below. I love drifting in and out of consciousness while being lulled by the rhythm of the road. There's a trust that comes in being able to sleep while someone else is behind the wheel. Seeing the world behind a curtain of eyelids while life flashes by in streaks of red and yellow, eyes flickering back and forth on the cusp of dreaming. Not only is your life in their hands but there's a level of comfort and intimacy that's required to not feel obligated to keep the driver company, keep them entertained. To allow them to be alone with their thoughts with you in the 'room'. To be an arms length away at all times and not say a word.

I miss the hum of the road. The excitement of the journey and the moment of arrival. One of my favorite things in the world is being chauffeured around while I look at houses and passersby. I look forward to the next time I get to use my seat belt as a pillow, buy gummy bears at a gas station and stop beside the road for an impromptu photo of an over-sized novelty item.

Where the road takes me, I do not know... but I sure do look forward to the journey.

Simmer Down Now

The weather outside is frightful! Baby, it's cold outside! No really, it is. I spent twenty minutes de-icing my car after work today. Given the fact the weather stripping on my car door ripped off as I opened the door, you can imagine how much I enjoyed the whole experience.

It's gross. It's icy and snowy and it hurts when you're outside and Mother Nature pelts you in the face. So when I finally did get home I decided it wasn't a snow day... it was a soup day.


With the exception of French Onion (which, let's face it, is just a conduit for cheese) and Bean with Bacon soup (because, hello... bacon!) I'm not much of a soup person. My mom made lots of soup growing up (tomato and macaroni, beef barley, chicken noodle, minestrone, barfed... I mean borscht) so I've had my fill. And when I eat out I always opt for fries or salad (but mostly fries) instead of soup as my side dish and I never, ever, pay money for soup.

Ever.


Except once. At a fancy-schmancy bachelorette party at the type of restaurant where french fries are clearly out of the question (they wouldn't have gone well with the wine anyway) and the only type of salad available is one made of weeds and flowers. And so the soup of the day it was. And what a soup, indeed! Moroccan Tomato and Peanut soup. So delicious that I googled it as soon as I got home. A few batches later and I think I have it down to a science. Especially since I forgot the 'add water' step for the first few batches. Needless to say, it was a little thick.

Kind of like me.


It's a great soup. I make mine a tad on the spicy side (kind of like me!) and with less peanut butter (I have nothing funny to say about that). It freezes wonderfully and makes a great, filling lunch. The type of lunch that makes you feel like all warm and fuzzy inside, like you're at home instead of the company cafeteria. Like I said, I'm not a soup kind of girl but this soup? Isn't like soup at all... it's like a bowl full of awesome.

That's right, awesome.

Don't believe me? Try for yourself. Don't mind the pencil markings (I figured out the Weight Watchers points, for the old system) or the food stains... it's a recipe that's been well used and well loved.

Enjoy!

Until Next Year...

My lips are the color of bright pink hot pants and my face, arms and jeans are covered in body glitter. Such is life when you get a makeover at a 4 year old's birthday party on Boxing Day (Canada's version of Black Friday, retail-wise).

Tomorrow I attend Christmas gathering five. Five! So overwhelmed am I by this Christmas season that I've been getting up early (relatively speaking, of course) just so I can move to the couch and nap in the glow of the Christmas tree, enjoying every possible moment before it's time to put it all away.

I wish I had taken time off work. To prolong the inevitable. To putz around the house, doing nothing more than catching up with friends between cheesy movies on the W channel and naps in front of the fire. But, alas, it's almost all over. Tonight is the last night I don't have to set an alarm and tomorrow is the last of the Christmas gatherings. I'm down to the last of the candles for my German pyramid... A Christmas trinket I've wanted for years and stumbled upon in a local flower shop. With no price tag, I played the game of "I won't pay more than..." in my mind, knowing I had paid $80 for one as a gift to my mother almost two decades ago and having seen similar ones online not that long ago for $300.

And so, with trepidation, I asked the store manager how much it was... only to be told he'd give it to me for $45. And so it came to be, this new Christmas tradition. The heat from the candles causing the blades to turn, making the characters on each level
go round and round. It's a shame to put it away. It all seems to have gone by so quickly.

It ended too soon.

Christmas Past

I haven't always been a fan of Christmas. In fact, there was a time when it was my most dreaded day of the year, the only highlights being a few hours spent at an afternoon matinee or going out, post family dinner, with an old high school friend in town for the holidays to sing karaoke at the the only bar in town open Christmas night. Catching up on the year past in the smokey, dingy type of establishment that rents rooms by the hour, surrounded by people who were, like us, trying to escape or, sadly, had nowhere else to go. People from different walks of life, sitting together in silent comradery without judgement or trouble, calling a truce on social standings, or lack thereof, and sharing the same space and moments in silent understanding.

The bar has since been torn down, the friend is no more and there never seems to be any good movies playing this time of year. Things change. And so has my Christmas. No longer is it filled with awkward silence and palpable tension, having being guilted into going only to be told my presence ruined the day. No more is it a tug-of-war battle between my conscious and my heart- telling myself it was the right thing to do, all the while feeling resented and unloved, wondering if the material value of the gifts was worth a day spent being so conflicted and confused. Painfully longing for something better.

Now my Christmas is mine and mine alone. To spend as I see fit. With family I was given not by blood but by fate, luck and love. The family I have in my friends, near and far. Not just for a day but the entire season. All the Christmas cards... the secret Santa gifts... the traveling from one home to another, knowing that I'm wanted and loved in not just one home but many. So much cheer has come my way this month that my cousin, who's staying with me while she completes an internship in the city, has started calling me "Hollywood". She thinks I'm famous... I tell her I'm just incredibly, amazingly lucky. To have met the people I have, both online and off. It never ceases to amaze me that people give me a second thought, let alone a third or fourth. I think of my friends and I am so overwhelmed and amazed. It seems impossible that I could give to any of you (yes, you!) even a little bit of what you all give to me.

Now, at Christmas, I spend the day thinking "I don't deserve this" instead of "I deserve better".

And now, the day I hated so much? Is one of my favorite days of the year.

And, so, on this day, so very different from Christmases past, I wish you a Merry Christmas. May your heart be as full and overflowing as my own... and may you feel as loved as I do tonight. If not by the people you'd most expect than in the most unexpected of ways. Because while one type of love may seem your given right the true joy comes from the kind you will spend your entire life in awe and gratitude of. The kind that makes you want to be a better person because you may not know how you got it but you sure as heck want to do everything you can to earn it. And this holiday season?! Makes me want to do everything I can to earn it because, hot damn, am I lucky.

Christmas is so much better when it truly is Merry!