~ From A Sow's Ear

There have been times when I’ve found myself completely in awe of the women I surround myself with. From owning their own power tools to being the queens of home deco, these women are at the top of my ‘Artsy Fartsy’ list. It’s no secret that I’m not mechanically inclined. I’m also directionally challenged and I’m far off the map from being artsy-fartsy. The closest I get to doing crafts is the Christmas wrapping-paper explosion in my living room.

A few things that continually keep me in awe . . .

Some of them have an inner strength that never ceases to amaze me. In the face of death, illness or great adversity, these women put their shoulders back, hold their heads high and carry on.

Some of them are incredibly artsy-fartsy. You’ve heard the saying, “turning a sows ear into a silk purse”? It applies to a lot of them. Literally.

They can take twigs and ribbon and turn them into a masterpiece you’d be proud to hang in your home. Some can take a few beads, some pieces of silver and a strand of wire and turn it into a bauble fit for a queen.

I have friends who can sit in front of a sewing machine with a piece of fabric and turn out anything from gorgeous pieces to wear, draperies for an entire home, slip covers, pillow cases, jewelery bags, purses and suitcase tags. Probably with their eyes closed. Seriously. I hate these women. (not really)

The talent isn't just within my circle of friends, it continues on in my family . . .

Donna, who is my sister-in-law in Texas, can turn her home into a winter wonderland that would outd0 anything that Better Homes and Garden could ever dream of. My sister can turn out a floral arrangement that would be fit for the entrance table at the White House. And my daughter? She can paint masterpieces.

All this being said ~ while my toothbrush is the only power tool I own, I’d like to believe that I could put something together as long as the directions were simple enough for any 5-year old.

And while my prowess in the kitchen is better than ‘good’, Martha Stewart still doesn’t live here. Now that I think about it, neither does Bob Vila.