It’s amazing what a different a clean, organized space makes in my emotional well-being. Here are photos of the fabric stash area before moving it. This is by no means the extent of the stash, just the largest portion of it. There were also several large wire bins overflowing with scraps and two totes of fat quarters stashed in the back room.
Notice the balance ball? Never use it. Three weeks in and I haven’t used the new quilting machine. The pattern and spray starch on the floor? Never use them. Buttercup doesn’t even use the scratching post. See that enormous pile of fabric on top of the wire drawer unit? It’s so heavy that the plastic top has sagged so I can’t open the top drawer. Pitiful.
Unfortunately, things must get worse before they get better. Here’s Day 1:
It gradually got better, despite my best efforts to sabotage the cleaning blitz by hauling out the scraps and sorting them into bins. Finally, today, this is what the stash looks like:
The larger pieces are all folded uniformly, sorted by color and value, and placed neatly on the shelves. The dresser next to the bookshelf is topped by totes full of scraps, also sorted by color.
Inside the small dresser…
Are fat quarters and “large” small pieces of fabric, also sorted by color. Basically this is anything more than 6″ wide and less than 1/2 yard.
This is the length of the room from one end. There’s more space around the corner to the right at the far end.
My sewing table has a fold out section that seats another person, and an old vanity minus the mirror is adjacent to the sewing table, creating a space for 3 people to sew and chat.
Here’s where I sit:
There’s another old vanity against the wall for a fourth person, flanked by that (completely cleaned out and reorganized) wire basket unit and two bookshelves full of quilting books and magazines.
Even my desk is clean.
Buttercup is happy that everyone is gone. She’s a hissy, pissy little thing, desperate to be included but defensive when someone actually approaches her. Or, you know, looks at her. Or she looks at them. Whatever. She hisses and smacks at them with her paw, claws retracted so no damage is done. I wish they could see her when she climbs over my arm at the keyboard and wedges herself onto my lap. The better part of this post was written like this:
And by the way…
…yep, definitely feeling satisfied.