I used to think of myself as somewhat of a poet. I could get my rhyme on with the best of them. But lately, I have felt as if my poetic sensibilities have been somewhat dulled by the realities of life. Who has time to be poetic when raising teenagers, battling the effects of high blood pressure, and moving households?
That was when I remembered that life is all about poetry. There is poetry in the mundane; you just have to look for it.
I watched my husband draw out the plans for our built-in bookcases this evening. It is quite beautiful to watch something come together from drawing to reality. It is, in essence, poetry.
My living room is the place destined for the new built-in.
The room has already come a long way from the first day I saw it—pineapple yellow walls, bare of any interest—the room looked small and cramped with nothing in it. I saw something in that space that wasn’t there. And it isn’t there yet, but it’s getting there.
And tomorrow we will take it one more step closer. In the interest of poetry, I thought I’d bring you along for the ride.
The room the way it was the fist time I saw it...
Then I painted the walls...
And added some curtains...(note the different angle showing you more of the room this time)
Next I added a little furniture (but since we hadn't fully moved it, nothing is properly placed just yet)...
Check back tomorrow for pictures as the room starts to come together...
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Until the next time...I'll be building bookcases!