Grams Studio

Yes, I made a sign for the door to my art studio. The “NOT A STORAGE ROOM” is a reminder to myself.

Why do we, women in particular, so easily relinquish our personal space for storage? Our art studios, craft rooms, home offices, reading nooks, or whatever space we have designed for our own use somehow becomes the prime stash zone or catch-all for miscellaneous stuff.

I brought it up in therapy as that is one habit that I must break to achieve my goals. Everything is entwined, so there probably some bogus bull in my head about being worthy of personal space, more of a “don’t be so selfish” echo from childhood and/or expectations to tend to the needs of others while disregarding my own, definitely not self-loathing or anything. (I suffer from depression, not low self-esteem.) And, it’s not just me. Reclaiming a room for personal space is mentioned often enough in online decluttering groups to take notice.

Anyone else decluttering?

Some days, it feels like a never-ending project. I did the easy rooms first so all I have do is maintain them. I wake up smiling in uncluttered space and tell you true, there’s just something absolutely delicious about opening kitchen cupboards and seeing everything so nicely organized and neatly arranged. Those small pleasures, along with the support and motivation of a decluttering group, keep me going.

My goal is to eliminate excess stuff and be organized enough to be able to find what I want or need without wasting precious time searching for something that I know is here. I put myself in therapy to deal with the underlying issues, covid fatigue, and life in general. It’s all entwined.

Thanks for reading!

Nooks & Crannies

Mildred Sugar Mills, a.k.a. Sugs

Be sure to leave plenty of nooks and crannies for the studio cats. This is Millie, Maybe Mabel’s sister. The girls are in training, exploring as we go. I’m setting up the horrid room as my studio space after months of decluttering, arranging odd bits of curb finds and old furniture. It all needs cleaned. I see more dust and dirt in photos than with my own eyes.

I regret painting everything shades of blue in 2018. I had to flip rooms, couldn’t sleep in the large bedroom after the Vet moved out. My mind was everywhere but neutral. Then the room slowly became a catch-all, clutter growing like an underbrush overtaking rements of semi-organized storage, making it harder to find things.

Familiar pattern? Yes. The same thing has happened in every place I’ve ever lived with a “spare” room. So much easier to hide a mess, quick clean… just haul or toss it in and shut the door. Occasionally wander into the forrest to gather supplies needed to make art elsewhere, so much time lost searching.

Patterns… if you want things to change, you got to make some changes.

It’s not easy. Joining a decluttering support group on Facebook has proven to be very beneficial. I also put myself back in therapy, set some goals to work on various aspects of my life, as everything is intertwined.

I’m going to come out of this stronger, better, and more sure of myself than ever. That’s a far cry from the “I’m old, I’m ye blind, it is what it is, so be it” mentality that has plaqued me for awhile. It was not really defeated, more of a quiet acceptance of being done, no time left for dreams, out of someday ideas… no desire or ambition. This new thing is like a stir between the two… old enough to be aware of my limitations, setting myself and my space up to enjoy my creativity without unnecessary frustrations.

Thanks for reading!

NOTE: This post launches “Beyond” as all posts before my blogging hiatus were written by me before what feels like a line drawn in the sands of time.

Daylight Savings

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Should I participate in Daylight Savings Time?

Years ago, when rolling back time was a manual process, opting out was easier. You didn’t have to do anything to stay on Summer Time year round. Just leave those clocks alone, adjust time in your head if you had be at work or make an appointment per someone else’s schedule. Time is relative.

There are advantages. Winter guests tend to leave a little earlier. They glance at the clock on your wall and say something like, “Oh my, it’s getting late… we should go.”

It’s like a psychological experiment. Some people actually yawn, feel more tired if they think it is an hour later than it is at their own house. I’ve been experimenting with the concept of time ever since I was a teenage babysitter watching young ones not old enough to read clocks with hands. They knew bedtime by what was on television, so I would turn off the TV and play with them, keep them busy with games or other activities. Then I’d tell them that it is bedtime an hour or so early, but I’d let them stay up awhile for being so good… I could tuck them into bed early with no fuss. That’s bad, but hey… kids were happy.

It’s the men in my life who have had issues with my clocks. I know the vet will take the clock down off my kitchen wall and adjust the hands on his next visit. He will think I didn’t change it because I couldn’t reach it. He’s been changing my clocks without asking for years now. He doesn’t know that I used to leave my clocks on Summer Time, that it used to drive other men nuts, because I never told him. The first year he did it, I just grit my teeth and let it go… doesn’t matter. Since all the other clocks auto-update, the only hands that don’t get changed now are on the watch of my key fob necklace. That’s mine, like one little piece of me holding out in a quiet defiance for the relativity of time, a silent protest to Daylight Savings.

Sigh. Thanks for reading!