It once appeared that I was on a Martha Stewart-like career trajectory, the likes of which have not been seen since - well - since Martha Stewart.
The birth of my daughter seemed to
trigger a hormone-fueled artistic binge and I started painting, took up photography and, most amazing to me anyway, started designing my own hand-painted pillows. When I was making the first two or three, I didn’t even know what the sewing term, “right sides together”
meant. I just happened to trip into an explanation of it while watching a craft show on HGTV, to which, now that I was both wife AND mother, I had become doubly addicted.
In case you’re not a sewer,
putting the right sides together means that, in effect, you’re sewing something
together inside-out, then, just before you’ve stitched it all the way around, you stick your hand in, turn the item right-side-out and then sew up the
last little bit. That way, your stitches don’t show.
Hearing that explanation of right sides together came as a huge epiphany and explained why most sewn items look the
way they do. Who knew? Most people, probably, but that was beside the point because now I knew, too. And now my pillows would be a lot more professional-looking and there would be no stopping me. After I'd made a few more pillows, I
asked the opinion of an interior decorator who told me that they were worth over
a hundred dollars apiece. Could she have been drunk, I asked myself later. No, I didn't think so.
I am a great lover of the comedy team, Laurel and Hardy, and one day, I took a piece of cloth and painted onto it their likenesses as they had appeared in The Music Box, a short from 1932. In it, Stan and Ollie struggle to haul a clunky, crated, upright piano up a seemingly endless flight of steps. I
never did perfect my Stan, but my Ollie looked just like him, even if I do say
so myself. When I finished painting the cloth, I put it in the dryer to set the paint, then sewed it (right sides together) onto
another piece of fabric and stuffed it. I really liked this pillow.
One day, I screwed up all my courage, tucked that pillow under my arm and walked into a
shop that specialized in movie memorabilia. Timidly, I asked the owner if he would put it up for sale. He looked at the pillow dubiously – I mean, who could blame him. After all, people aren't exactly clamoring for Laurel and Hardy-themed pillows. If he put it in his shop window and a crowd gathered, it would have to be because the pillow had spontaneously combusted. So, he wouldn't buy it from me, but he would display the pillow in the store and give me most of the money if it sold.
I left the shop feeling as victorious as Martha Stewart must have after her first bake sale because now a new Martha had been born! One day, I would be a guest on Martha's show where she would complement my pillows and I would gush over her edible gold-, silver- and copper-leaf hand-dipped Christmas cookies. Yes I would. Oh, my head was filled with visions of pillows and Martha, of Martha and pillows.
It wasn't long after, that my then-husband, Michael and I celebrated our wedding anniversary and when Michael presented me with a wrapped bundle, he was apologizing.
“Teece, I hope you’re not insulted or upset. Believe me, I had all the best intentions.”
Now, Michael always said Teece-I-hope-you're-not-insulted-or-upset-Believe-me-I-had-all-the-best-intentions any time he'd just done something insulting or upsetting - or potentially divorce-worthy. But when I opened the gift, my heart filled with love. He had paid $90 for that pillow just so he could give it back to me for our anniversary.
But wait a minute, that was sweet and touching and all, but if launching my Martha Stewart-style business empire meant my husband was going to be buying back the product line piece by piece, the future of my enterprise looked bleak. But I was fine with this thoughtful gesture. After all, it was a sign of a strong marriage when one spouse cared enough for the other to ruin that spouse's chances at a billion dollar hand-painted pillow empire. And I'd have done the same for Michael. So yes, I was okay with it.
Anyway, I got the pillow in the divorce. And these days, like the artist who created it, that pillow, as you can see, is a little worse for wear. The paint is worn and smeary-looking and the pillow itself is now flat and lumpy; again, a lot like the artist. But the pillow has become very special to my daughter who keeps it on her bed. So yes, I am still okay with it.
And I guess it really is the thought that counts – in this case, all the way up to ninety bucks.
