So here we are, day numero uno.  Tonight I am filled with anticipation.  The launch of a long-awaited dream (probably of the pipe variety) to write.  I’ve had enough people tell me I should be writing something, so I’m finally writing something.  The Salvaged is only a couple of hours old, and standing up on shaky legs, and is quite unsure of herself, but I know this: people need to be reminded of what they’ve successfully salvaged in their lives.  I do, for certain.  This word “salvage” has been ringing in my ears since last night at about 11:00.  I don’t know why it stuck, but from it grew this crazy idea.  And you know what, here is where it will reveal itself.  Or unravel maybe, but who knows.  You can come here and count on me to be authentic, and to hashtag the hell out of everything because I think it’s hilarious.  No?  Ok, no.

While punching time at a traditional nine-to-five whoohoo, I am vicariously living through a few of my comrades, and playing out several other career options up in my dome.  Firstly, my taste far exceeds my budget, so I have hit Pinterest, Houzz, and about a billion other websites designed to make me wag my tongue and lust over things like Hermes blankets and Bobby McAlpine furniture (new obsession), with an unmatched fervor and gusto in an attempt to copy and or replicate that feeling, you got it, (everyone with me) by going SALVAGE (sing song!).  If it can be salvaged, I’m “gone fine it.”  (side note: if you are not from the South, first, I’m sorry.  Secondly, you need to assume that some of my slang is written in a Charleston-inspired ghetto-slang-combo that’s sort of.. oh forget it.  Just go with me).  Maybe you’ll get it at my book signing… one day… when I’m uberfamous and turning down speaking engagements left and right.  (sarcasm).  (sort of).

Right now I freelance consultations (fo’ free ya’ll) to my very favorite people on kitchen and whateverelseneedsconsulting sort of projects for which they may need a designer and are also, sadly, inhibited by reality and normal life (i.e. find me some normal people willing to spend $12,000 on a custom sofa, for reals), but would like their said project to be somewhat cohesive and on a penny.  I love a good hunt, let me tell you.  I am working on my vision for people who are not quite in line with my own taste and I love that challenge.  I am not degreed, nor certificated, and am otherwise unqualified as an official “designer,” except for this nagging feeling inside that I get it.  I’m not there by any means, but I’m starting, and I love it.  But it’s not just design though.

I also run The Fixit Shoppe, really with one other friend, Mrs. Dee, whom I cannot live without.  We run free crazy-checks for one another, and as a courtesy (albeit sometimes, unbeknownst to them…) for fellow 20-30-somethings who need, well, a crazy check.  If you ever have a moment when you think, “ok, am I crazy?” and you call someone to ask them, that’s your Mrs. Dee.  We bounce ideas, and just life off of one another.  We make fun of people and have great heaving-silent-laughs at the expense of those who persecute us.  In private of course.  We are Southern ladies after all, bless all your hearts.

I can get pretty deep too, so here’s a preview of some serious business.  I am an English major who is prone to large tears falling at the sound of my tiny daughter squealing when her Daddy comes home, or at the sight of a Facebook message from my big little brother who is in Afghanistan, or when my husband takes an extra moment to hug me and press my head into his shoulder, like he knows I needed an extra breath after a long day.  I wrote a very large paper several eons ago about a poet named Eavan Boland.  She is an Irish siren who has been lauded for writing and successfully elevating a woman’s experiences in her home, to a thing of artistic beauty.  All I want is to make things beautiful.  This life is so full of lost chances, missed moments, unsaid confessions, unsung heroes.  Here is my chance at salvaging one day at a time, and slowly coaxing it into something beautiful.  That’s going to look a lot different from day to day, and at the end of my life, I hope I’ve got a chronicle full of feeling, a beautiful, huge family to share it with, in a home full of salvaged moments, salvaged people, and salvaged beauty.  Some days I’m going to be really full of myself and think I’m hilarious.  And some I’ll only show you before and after shots of a fantastic piece I loved and urged into an heirloom.

We spend our lives looking for things, on the hunt.  We seek, find, and salvage what we can from those around us, from our closets, from our jobs, from our relationships.  And that’s what I started today.  I want to cultivate what’s authentic about my passions, and well, why not write about it?  Might be a little cheeky sometimes, but everyone could use a little ribbing.  Welcome to The Salvaged.


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