Last weekend I moved my studio back upstairs to it's real home.
There is proper storage up there, and spring time always makes me want everything extra neat and tidy.
It was much easier to move it all back home than I thought it would be, but it wasn't quite as effortless as the day's Inchie suggests.
One of the things I like about having my studio upstairs during the summer is that it becomes a sort of 'chat room' for me and the college girlies.
They began moving things home from their dorm rooms this week and, sure enough, when they were both here brieftly on Monday, we all wound up in my studio.
They were clicking away on their lap-tops, completing the last of their term papers, and I was bringing the studio to order, but that didn't keep us from getting into a very interesting conversation.
There was no chocolate eaten, but even so, this Inchie represents the discussion very well.
Another thing I like about moving or organizing my studio occasionally is that I get to see some things again for the first time.
I moved this book, for instance.
So, yesterday evening, when I had a friend in my studio, we looked through this book page by page.
I love how they called the preface the 'beforehand'.
How neat is that?
And I love just about anything which encourages creative play for children.
Here are some of the pages.
Inspiring play, indeed.
After we'd looked through the pictures, I showed my friend my favorite part of the book.
It was sent to me by a Dear Reader.
And this was the inscription inside:
I love that this book was "pre-treasured".
It makes it more beautiful to me.
But something not-so-beautiful happened when I reread this book.
I suddenly realized that I had never sent a letter of thanks!
And that made me feel a little nauseous.
But...
I was in my studio.
Surrounded by a million and one things I'd been given - and held on to - over the years.
And I remembered that I had in my files some hands, die cut from mat board.
The wheels (and pages) started turning.
Not exactly the right pose of the fingers, but close enough.
Grab the pastels and get down and dirty.
Do the best you can with what you've got.
Turn it over and tell Dear Reader how much you, and your visitors, are enjoying her gift.
And then lie in wait for Blackheart the Postman.