My Happy Place
For as long as I can remember, I have loved crafting. When my dad left this earth, I inherited many of his very impressive woodworking tools.
I was excited to be able to use them, but I had a major problem. I had nowhere to put them. I had a small shed that was already filled to the brim with tools and supplies. Woodworking in the house was not an option because of sawdust and noise and because I really love my husband and want to stay married.
Upstairs is a designated craft room–Mom would have absolutely loved it. Downstairs is full of woodworking tools–Dad would have felt right at home.
Every time I walk in the door I smell the wood, I see the tools, and I feel connected to them. It’s not a sad, weepy connection. It’s a feeling that in some small way, they live on through me.
I love my happy place because it comes with a lifetime of precious memories.