"There is beauty in the every day details and magic in mason jars.
Just living a creative life one handmade project at a time." 

Tisha Lyn


It all started when…

I like to think back to how my love of crafts first began...
Me sitting at my little Holly Hobby, 1970's something, ironing down my mother's triangle pieces for her Starburst pillows she sold at a local craft store.  Burning my little fingers as I made my $.10 a triangle.
I should have known then that I probably would never get rich off of crafts...just burnt fingers, a big smile and the satisfaction of watching a piece of art form from beginning to end.

My mother literally was running an "Etsy" shop decades before Etsy was even a thought.  My grandmothers, my mother, my Aunts, my cousins .  
Being a hand crafter is in my blood.
I can't step away from hand making things anymore than the woman who came before me could.  It's a "have to".
I want to make pretty things.
I admire all the pretty things.
I am inspired by all the pretty things.
I have passed the gene down to my own daughter.
She now joins me often when we see something we love in a shop we both exclaim "Oh I LOVE that...I wonder how they made it!"
Often we attempt it ourselves and often we just buy it knowing that we won't have the time, skill or patience for the learning curve that comes with new projects.

The learning new crafts...Oh sweet Lordy is it addictive.
I once visited my 90+ year old grandmother in a nursing home.
I walked in to find her in front of the window, sitting and looking so sad.  The second she knew I was there she started crying and telling me how sad she was because her hands had betrayed her.
She could no longer crochet or craft in anyway.
She was heart broken.
I look back at that moment now and can honestly say my heart just aches thinking about what that must have been like for her.
I like to think I will be the same way though....crafting until I simply am betrayed by body.  Up until my last...
Making little trinkets and lovelies for my loved ones to hang on too long after I'm gone.

Her crocheted Christmas ornamants still hang on my tree, my mother's copper tooling piece still graces my front door...I even have one lonely Starburst pillow that she never made into the pillow so was instead framed in a hoop.
Those little folded triangles are still there though and they have a story behind them.
A little girl sitting at her Holly Hobby table, holding an iron that is too heavy and pressing down each fold....never getting rich but absolutely happy.  
That's how it always begins.  With the tiniest little moments.