This might be too deep of a subject for me. Perhaps it’s too painful. Or perhaps I, perpetual optimist that I am, never really give up on things. Or people. Or relationships? Or perhaps it’s all those things wrapped up in one.
In any case, I’ll see if I can think of a short list.
I’ve ruined a few of my favorite t-shirts and sweaters by snagging them on the pointed brass handle of the one red door that is hanging on my linen closet in the hallway. I painted the hall and main living area and the kitchen once–with bad paint that has since been peeling–and when we went to rehang the linen closet door it has never been the same. I couldn’t tell you where the other one–the one we never hung after we realized what a disappointment the first one was–even is. Except that is somewhere. And it will be rehung, crooked or not, someday.
Since I am the kind of person who never gives up–and who has to be cut out or ghosted or abandoned because I will never be the one who stops trying and just gives up–I would at least hope I haven’t ruined any relationships. Especially since, as imperfect as I am, the words “preserve the relationship” are indelibly etched across my brain, my heart, my soul.
I ruined every single canvas on which I’ve tried to paint. Apparently I can tole paint. I can paint by number. (I can, just now, envision the smattering of tiny numbered sections of browns and auburn and roan reds with a little patch of white on my first paint-by-number horse. I was always drawing horses. And that was my first choice for my first paint by number. Back in the day before all hopes I might have had of being an artist were dashed.
I don’t consider the very first quilt I made ruined just because my kids splattered black craft paint on the back. First, I wasn’t fond of the back anyway–it was my first and last time using sheets instead of a modge-podge of leftover fabrics for a crazy back, if you will. And stains, like scars and grey hairs, are simply stories of things that happened to you or someone or something you may have invested yourself in and therefore cared about. Sometimes at the hands of people you also care about. So you simply let it go.
[Day 148 of Ann Dee Ellis’ 8-Minute Memoir.]