It Starts with a Closet

Dream closet producer, thy name is Paul Baillie! I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned this previously, but my husband Paul is as handy as they come. He can build furniture, lay tile, hang crown molding & base trim, build built-in bookcases, lay a hard wood floor and make a toy box from scrap wood and wainscoting. He can basically build a house from the ground up. We bought a tiny little house in June with virtually no closet space and he built me a walk in closet, complete with custom shelving in less than a week. I’m not trying to brag but he is the bees knees.

I’ve always been fascinated and in awe of people that actually make things. As everything goes digital and virtual it’s becoming so rare to meet people that actually make things for a living, or even a hobby. Paul’s family has more than a-half dozen women that can knit like Michael Jordan used to play basketball, with great skill that looks completely effortless. I recently took up knitting and can tell you that doing what they do is not easy. My mother is an amazing gardener. She grows sugar cane, bananas, guavas, Japanese eggplant, sweet potatoes and the sweetest apples in Southern California. This is all the more impressive when you consider that she lives in San Diego which is basically a desert.

I suppose it’s why I got so obsessed with Project Runway (although this season was a yawnfest). In some ways, fashion is the last bastion of accessible artwork. While fashionistas may pay thousands for a great look that they saw on the runway, within a few months you can get a similar look from a midline brand at a department store and even Forever 21 (just to be clear, I never shop at Forever 21 because it makes me feel like a pathetic 38-year old hanging on to her ever evaporating youth). Other forms of art are not such an easy itch to scratch. Broadway show tickets $100+ per pop, purchasing an original painting in a gallery can cost thousands and don’t even get me started on ballet or opera tickets.

I wonder how the collective experience of being around Paul, his fierce knitting aunties, my miracle grower mom and their average baking mother will affect the kids as they get older. Paul cringes when he meets a guy that can’t hang a shelf or figure out how to unclog their toilet. He’s assured me that his boys will know how to swing a hammer, change the oil in their cars and find a stud in a wall. I dearly hope that my daughters find pleasure in some form of creativity. I dream about taking them to Italy to take classes with the Murano glass blowers in Venice.