Eventually my book-ish sister decided she no longer wanted to participate in art class. Looking back, she probably just didn’t want to take the same art class as a six year old, but at the time I thought she was just being a butt. Anyway, the art classes turned into me just going over to her house. Most of the time I would bake a loaf of bread as an accuse first. Come to think of it, that was my first job. She would give my five bucks every week for homemade bread. I know what you’re, thinking and no, I was not six and making bread. I was seven or eight at this point. Ha!
After exchanging the bread for the five dollars, I would stick around and we would do stuff. We wove bookmarks using paper plates in place of a loom, and she taught me how to make the best ice cream-less banana split ever. Sometimes we would just eat mini quiches and then go organize her art room. I freaking LOVED organizing her art room. Every Saturday for about a month, I would go to her house early in the morning, and would come home in time for dinner. That’s how messy that room was. That’s now the standard to which I now hold all messes. It was a glorious mess. Full of paintbrushes, beads, yarn, and shiny things. Every Saturday night I would come home with a shoebox or cigar box full of treasures. She didn’t smoke, they were vintage cigar boxes that she used to store things:
One of the best things about her, was that this filing system made perfect sense. Of course sticker and ribbon earrings and feathers went in a cigar box. What are sticker and ribbon earrings? I don’t know. I should have asked. I bet they are awesome.