Creativity in the Middle of It

On staying, making space, and loving what’s unfinished

My husband and I have developed the habit of not exchanging Christmas gifts, mostly out of necessity, choosing to spend on the kids instead. However, this year, I unexpectedly received a Christmas gift, perhaps the best kind in my opinion. After Christmas, we drove to Perry, Oklahoma, to dine at the Kumback Cafe, recognized as the oldest cafe in Oklahoma, with 99 years of operation. Our longtime friends are the new owners and visiting the restaurant was on our bucket list. I highly recommend the trip. The food and atmosphere are well worth your time. It's one of those charming places where time seems to stand still. 

After lunch, we walked over to the Yankee Dime Mercantile, one of the best antique shops in Oklahoma. I'm told people come from all over to visit this spot. Rightfully so, the space is thoughtfully curated and artistically staged. I was drawn in immediately to the melting pot of textures, colors, patterns, the thrill of hunt, and that intoxicating attic smell. I picked up a small piece of milk glass in the first 30 seconds of entering the front door for my longstanding collection. I also found a few small things for the girls, including button pins and a small Bambi figurine. After touring the huge collection and about to head to the register to make my purchases, my husband called my attention over to a piece of furniture; a 1950s hutch, to be exact. He knew I would love it because of our shared love of mid-century design. It was small, perfect for our small dining room, and it matched a mid-century buffet we already owned in the same room. We both admired it, but I moved on, thinking it would be out of our price range. To our surprise, after some inquiry, it was very reasonably priced! Long story short, we stopped to buy the hutch before our way out of town.

I built the color palette around the artwork on top, a painting by legendary Owasso coach and art teacher Jim McFadden. My milkglass from Yankee Dime is pictured bottom left.

This weekend I had the pleasure of cleaning and staging my new piece of furniture with a thoughtful collection of some of my favorite things. An art project for sure. One corner of my house is now perfect and is aesthetically exactly how I want it to be. Significant, you see, because there are so many areas of our house that are NOT perfect.

We live in a 1980s-style Tudor. We’ve lived here for 14 years. It was not updated when we bought it: carpet, bad wallpaper, all of the things. Not even my preferred decade, given my dream house is a 1960s ranch style. We can fix it up and update the decor, we naively thought. What we were really agreeing to was a lifelong work in progress, and I’ve accepted we may never experience it at full completion or the way we dream it to be. We bought it mostly for its novelty, the one acre treed lot, and the neighborhood (we were set to avoid the sea of suburban sameness at all costs). We see woods behind our back fence. The birds. The deer. We have made it ours over the years, but it still has so many things we would like to change. We could not afford this house when we bought it, and we can’t afford it now. Our kitchen is unbelievably small. Our pantry is the size of a thumbtack. Mismatched floors. We have a cracked mirrored wall in our bedroom (thank you 1980's and John Travolta). However, we also have a balcony in that same room that opens up to our beautiful backyard and the towering pine trees my husband planted years ago. (They’re his favorite).

I don't know much about this blue piece other than I knew I wanted it immediately when I saw it in my grandmother's house recently. The vibrant color and unique shape was the perfect addition to my small colored glass collection.

The list continues: outdated, grimy showers and an original oven that’s over 40 years old, posing baking challenges. A persistent plumbing issue remains unresolved despite several plumbers' visits, leaving a hole in our ceiling above the front door, creating an unintended water feature whenever one of the teens showers. The kitchen features unattractive beige institutional tile floors, complemented by quirky Ikea light fixtures that I adore. 

We covered a wall in our dining room with old wood boards that my husband once used to build a treehouse for the kids in our backyard when they were little. One of the boards is stamped with our daughter's painted handprint from her time in the treehouse. Our kitchen table in the same room is an old art room table I salvaged from my school 15 years ago. We painted our library-style woodwork in our living room white during COVID, and I love it. We also painted the front door yellow. The same front door with the most charming stained glass window that casts the most beautiful warm light when the sunlight passes through. 

I found these pieces at a garage sale or thrift store years ago. I love displaying them here and hope to find more pieces to complete the set.

If we were to sell and move, we know we could never afford to get back into a neighborhood like this. The views and the quiet walks among the towering trees count for a lot. The good outweighs the inconveniences, so we choose to stay. We choose to love it in the good and the bad. If you were standing in front of the hutch, you would turn and see the hole in the ceiling in the entryway. This hutch and all of the beautiful things in it are a reminder to actively find joy in the now. Every item in the hutch belonged to someone we love and know, or there is a story or memory attached to it. Like memories, we’re attached to here. This midlife season is about loving where you’re at and finding beauty in the mess...the glorious messy middle. Knowing that the house, just like us, is a work in progress. And that we are okay because the most important things are not things. 

Forty-seven was a challenging year, both mentally and physically. Much like this house, I began to notice strains in areas I hadn't before, prompting me to reevaluate what I'm carrying and what I'm ready to let go of. I've started to ease my workload at school and to scale back in ways that feel necessary. My creative work is evolving too—focusing less on output or improvement and more on care, attention, and nurturing what's already present. I'm learning to live within the work in progress, planting seeds thoughtfully and trusting that the next chapter will unfold in its own time.