Move on, girl!

Moving the proverbial boulder up a mountain is how I can describe the homestretch to opening my shop.

My husband has the patience of Job! Without his pushing, cheering me on, letting me cry and act like a jerk, I would never have gotten to this point today.

There are snippets of time in one’s life when you want to freeze-dry the scene, to be savored much longer than the shelf life of being “in the moment.”

After the movers were done moving, pushing and shaking their heads – “Why the heck does she have an old window frame that weighs 100 pounds?” – I stood in the glory of what was before me. It took me by surprise as I felt tears in my eyes as each piece was found, dragged, stored, shoved and stacked like LEGO bricks.

Baskets I can’t imagine selling (yes, I have this problem!) … Tables, each one with a great story of not only where it has been, but of how I found it.

I stood looking at all the work that has been done to my sweet little building, and all of the inhabitants that will soon be someone’s favorite piece. It was a moment of gratitude, humility, and sheer and utter dancing of a happy jig! How I wish my father could have seen this; I think he’s dancing a jig, too!

I’ve had this shop in my head since I was 24, and all of a sudden there she is, in all her imperfect perfection.

A labor of love, yes, but the loveliest little nest … I am home!


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