Who You Are.

I tend to keep my "business" and my "personal" lives separate. Having a business is kind of like being a journalist--I feel that in business, you should keep your private thoughts to yourself to a certain degree. I think I'm doing a better job than most journalists these days! However, a little piece of me goes into each and every item that leaves the porch, so I think that's it's okay to share something with you. Today is a big day for me, because seven years ago I didn't think there would be a "today". I didn't even think there would be a Christmas 2007, but there have been six Christmases since March 29, 2007 and I am hoping there will be many, many, many more Christmases and March 29ths.

Me, bald and wanting to go hand out pencils at the airport.

Pink was never really my color. Even in the 6th grade when I wore a pink-striped Ralph Lauren polo and pink swish Nikes to the first day of school, I think I would have rather worn anything but pink. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 34, I threatened everyone I knew with certain death (theirs) to NOT bring me anything with a pink ribbon on it. I'm not a flag-waver, a sign-carrier, or a get-out-there activist. I prefer to shout softer, and use my mind and hands to get my point across and to further a cause. Those that know me might say otherwise, but I could really be a raging activist if I was just a bit angrier...

I'm also not a big proponent of the "having cancer was a gift" line. I'd give that cancer back in a minute if I could. It was not a "gift". It didn't make me a better person. I was pretty damn "better" before it, but for so many years, it defined me. It scared me. It terrified me to the point that every little bump and bruise and pain was most likely the end. That "end". For a few years, I figured I was just going to die anyway and I was tired. Like, to the bone tired. I took care of my family as I should, needed and wanted to, but there was nothing about "me" that was all that special (other than being the token breast-cancer girl out of my age group of friends). Don't get me wrong--I wasn't pitied, or ignored, or held to a higher standard because of the cancer, but I slowly began to feel that maybe I wasn't going to die and maybe I should once again become a participating member of working society. 

 Drugged up, but loving my little man's hydrangea wreath.

Since 2007, I have had a lot of changes in my "professional" life. I closed my children's boutique in 2009 after owning it for seven years, I started doing more and more work for local fundraisers, and fell back in love with the best part of my boutique--creating on a daily basis. I loved the store for a very long time, but eventually decided that it was eating up too much of my life (and heart and nerves). The two things I told people I missed were the babies (ahhh, the smell of a new baby that won't keep me up all night is Heaven) and the custom projects. I couldn't just go out and smell random babies (I would prefer not to be incarcerated for that kind of shenanigan), so I gradually got back into creating.

I ran head on into Porch Productions. I revisited techniques and learned new ones. I bought paint and paint and more paint. I stocked up on brushes and power tools. I scoured every nook and cranny of yard sales, antique stores, thrift markets and created a network of awesome people that find great pieces for me and those who listen to me complain about how a layer of paint is going on. I still do all of this. This is IT. Having Porch Productions in my life has filled me up. I now worry more about the weather and "Can I finish that desk this week?", than my back hurting and "It's mets." I get immense joy from seeing the look on a customer's face when they see their re-created or newly created treasure for the first time. I can give more to my fundraisers not only because there is more to give, but because I can also create for them. I'm actually in the process of partnering with someone in a retail environment (but on a much smaller scale than the boutique), which is crazy, but I now think that I can start something and be around to finish it. I am finally where I am supposed to be--in my heart and on the porch.

 Glad I'm not a lefty.

Check your Porch Production's piece...somewhere on it is a fingerprint from this hand.

It's my "signature".

If you have read the "About" section on my page, you know when I first refinished a piece of furniture (around 1997). If you have read my other blog posts, you know about the letters and the sweet nurseries. If you have browsed my page, you know what I do now. By reading this blog, you now know what Porch Productions now does for me--for my family, for my self-confidence, for my survivorship. I don't owe cancer anything. I owe the ability to be tired after working hard to the countless sweet girls who are not here anymore. The ones that held my hand (both virtual and in real life) when I was no one but a "breast cancer girl". It's always going to be a part of me, but now when I am introduced to someone new, I'm introduced as the girl who owns Porch Productions.

When you think of my small business, don't only think about how I am taking pieces destined for the trash heap (recycling, anyone?) or giving people the option to buy small instead of big (there is no CEO over here). Think about what it means to me to be someone who takes these two hands, these sometimes neuropathic legs and this fuzzy chemo-brain and creates. Someone who found out she was someone she used to be before, but better and happier. There's more to the porch than just wine, and there's more to me now than that vague memory of the cancer. This week, I am even painting a 1950's vanity...pink. On top of that, last Christmas I asked for (and got) a new compressor. This year, it's a new high-falutin' respirator.