Maybe you could call it satisfying, but I think that there is a real romance to the act of making something, fixing something. It’s no secret that I like to create, but I also like to be around others that do. 

I can’t say it was as often as the coffee shop, but I used to frequent a hardware store in Hopkins, Minnesota. Even when I didn’t know exactly what I needed, they had it. In an unmarked bin. In the back. Pointed out by the man in a red smock, who received additional advice from the two we passed sipping coffee and eating popcorn from a paper sack. I was thrilled to get the right bit, or the thing to hang my mirror…and they seemed to feel the same. The transactions felt clean, accomplished. Parked right in front of the store, I left with a slight hover of popcorn, and a wave, and everything I needed. Nothing I didn’t. 

I think we often get glamour confused with romance. With elegance. I am not one to “gild,” but I want to make the things that I touch feel special. Perhaps with simplicity. Ease. A found piece of wood, sanded again and again, so smooth you could brush a cheek, made into a frame that coddles, not overpowers, the delicate painting within. A painting with a story. A palette. A life. Pure romance. 

It’s still out there, you know. We can sit around complaining about artificial intelligence. What was made overseas. Or, we could do something. Create something. Anything. Cookies. We could patch those jeans. Tighten that bolt. Clean that bathroom. Not begrudgingly, but joyfully. Satisfied, we could stand with hands on hips to brace the smiles, and wouldn’t it be something? It may just be romantic!