This is my therapy.
In September I became a booth. Really, my garage filled up with my "stuff". And I started painting, organizing , pinning displays and vignettes. Day-dreamy, time-wasty kind of stuff.
My fourteen year old son became a Junk Hunk. Junk Hunk; noun- a male, of any age, who helps his mama, wife, sister, girlfriend, or his mama's friend, sister, and girlfriend, move furniture, tack up pages of maps on a wall. Dolly a vintage refrigerator up a second floor via a ramp. Hold this, put this here. No wait, over there. xx I love you. Wait , I don't like that. put it over here. Thank you hunny! Now that's what I call a Junk Hunk.
Back to the booth. This isn't a picture of the booth. Which is named "Mary Ann and Donna Lou" and maybe someday I will tell you that story. I will. This is a window display that I was asked (humbled me) to be a part of. I know you may not understand, but looking at this photo makes me want to cry. Such a blessing to me. Is it possible that adding more to my life would be a blessing? Well in this case, in my case, it is. I have gone back and forth with my mister. But he has supported every last day-dreamy, time-wasty bit! While I paint, create, dream, I relax. I smile. I breath. I'm in love.
The people there, smile, greet, and have happy conversations. Happy conversations. That's just what the Dr. ordered.
