I Am A Maker

I come from a family of makers. My father is a good old fashioned handyman that can build anything, and my mom is a genius with a paint roller and a sewing machine. Niko is the secret illustrator and the music and movie creator, and I’ve always been the cook and all-around craft queen. I remember growing up and hearing my parents say the words, “Or we could just make it” whenever we saw something at a store we were looking for. My mom handmade most of our Halloween costumes growing up, and my dad basically built our home. (Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but he’s my dad so I tend to think he’s pretty awesome.) If you ask them, they’ll say it started because they didn’t always have the money for the life they dreamed of, so instead they literally built it for themselves. However, I’ve always seen it as an ability to see the potential in what something could be.

When my dad first saw the land that would eventually hold our home, he pictured the house and life we could build there. When my mom saw the blank walls he was putting up in that home, she imagined the colors she could paint and the fabrics she would hang to make it feel cozier. And when it came time for Niko to move into his first apartment with Jess, I saw in him what I have seen in my parents countless times before, the ability to see the potential in a blank space.

Now it’s my turn, I’m planning my move and what I want my future place to look like, and especially what I want it to feel like. I find myself taking pieces from all that my family of makers have taught me, and building it up one piece at a time. After scouring a few garage sales, I found pieces that were old or falling apart, and I was able to see their stories from previous owners along with the place they might have in mine. I could imagine the way my father and I would fix them, and how my mother and I would then talk paint colors. I saw the excitement I would have when I would show Niko what I had found and hear his ideas for what they could turn into. I could picture my future, and how each piece would have a bit of my family woven throughout it.

This past weekend we finished my first piece! We found this amazing kitchen island on the side of the road. The countertop was damaged and the wood was a color that I wasn’t in love with, but I knew I could turn it into something wonderful. My father started building what would become my butcher-block countertop, and I sanded the shelves while dreaming in color. The project turned out to be relatively painless and I couldn’t be more in love with how it came out.

I know lots of people will look at it and say, “You could have gone to a store and bought one already finished,” which I will proudly respond with what I’ve heard my parents say countless times, “Or we could make it.” Now, whenever I look at it, or make bread on it, or fill its shelves with some of my cookbooks, I’ll be reminded that I have a piece of my family in that kitchen, and a piece of them within me wherever I go.