Several years ago, when we built our garage, we added an extra twelve feet in length, partitioned it off and called it Husband's studio.
At first he was enthusiastic. Painted the walls with the color he picked out, bought a few framed prints, put up valances in dark blue, that kind of thing.
He put his art supplies in it.
Then it sat and gathered dust and cobwebs and general nastiness as years went by. When he did decide to do art, he lugged stuff from there to the kitchen table, thus disabling two places.
I finally cobbled out a corner of the studio for a work computer, thinking that I could go there and be alone to work.
Ha.
My family all have working legs and you know where those legs took them.
At any rate, about two months ago, I stopped and looked around me. This little room had potential, if I didn't think I'd smother to death every time I went in.
So, I went to work. By that I mean I put Husband and Daughter to work.
Now it looks rather spacious. I have a good file cabinet, a work table, an armchair for company, good lighting and shelves for all the books I have for sale.
Husband still has his own computer out here, plus his easel and art supplies. He even perked up and said this now looked like a place where he might be able to paint or draw.
As soon as the floors are cleaned, I'll have a pretty spiffy place. Give us a few days to get that last chore done, and I'll give you the grand tour.
It won't take long, the place is twelve feet wide.
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