The year for Christmas, my sister gave me a piece of ordinary.
Something we see and overlook and walk and stomp and dance and tiptoe and tread on every single day.
A piece of floor.
But this wasn’t any old piece of floor.
This floor came from the local theater in her town built long ago before the internet or cell phones or movies or even talkies were a twinkle in a theater goer’s eye.
Once the hub of the town, the cultural center for people for miles around, in recent years, the theater had fallen on hard times.
A little forlorn.
A little sad.
In need of a face lift.
The theater is being renovated and restored and sparkled and shined back to its former glory. In the process of the renovation, they removed the floor boards to make room for new and better. My sister asked if she could have them.
Of course she did.
We are related.
She brought home a load of flooring from the theater. And then? She cut the boards and make a handmade book for me for Christmas.
She drilled holes and wound the ends of the boards with twine and added the yummiest paper between the covers of the book and then stamped the year the theater was built onto the cover.
But that wasn’t the end of the gift.
It didn’t stop there.
Not even close.
You see, my sister is a teacher of all things and anything creative. She’s a whirlwind. She’s a force of artistic nature. She owns a studio and shop and teaches classes on painting and drawing and creating and print making. She’s creative and clever and brilliant and funny and collects art supplies, like I collect white dishes.
And full of surprises.
So, to surprise me, she closed the shop and invited the twins and I to a private hand lettering class.
We sketched and drew and created and spent hours laughing so hard the walls and ceilings joined in.
It was a day full of moments I will remember forever.
After I learned and practiced and wrote dozens of letters, I created something to remind me of the day.
I took that book made out of flooring and wrote my heart.
Just me and my pen and some paper and some vintage pages tucked between two pieces of old flooring.
An ordinary moment.
An ordinary piece of paper.
An ordinary piece of floor
Celebrating the day when all that ordinary was sprinkled with laughter and joy and friendship and family and….
….became the most extraordinary of all. 🙂
PS You can see more about my sister’s shop here.
And if you ever want to take a creative class? I know a really great teacher. 🙂