I found the crib on the side of the road.  It was leaning against a hydro pole, abandoned, rejected, calling to me.  This was in 2001.  My sister and I and my pregnant belly wrestled the dirty pieces into the car.  It was like putting together a puzzle once it was unloaded in what was to be the nursery.  It took hours.  It was fine.  I like puzzles.  And all the pieces were there.  It went together.  It was strong.  I climbed into it and jumped on the mattress. (No, I didn't get a mattress from the ditch - it was a $5 yard sale steal!)  After a vigorous cleaning, a coat of white paint and some adorable bedding, it could have been on display at Babies'R'Us.  I surveyed my work smugly, satisfied that, with a little elbow grease, I had saved myself about $150.

That poor crib has survived three babies beyond what it's original owner had intended.  It is scratched and stained and bite-marked.  Yesterday I dismantled it, staking definite claim in the "I'm done having babies" club.  Noa was excited to move into a sweet little toddler bed that we rescued from my best friend's garage and yes, the $5 mattress is still going strong!

The inspiration came as I was carrying the crib spring down the stairs with full intention to send it to the dump.  I love organization.  I love everything in it's place.  I love when organization looks interesting.  On a whim I cleared a spot on my bedroom wall, secured the spring with screws and used it to hang my necklaces, bracelets and earrings.  We'll call it a piece of sculpture.  This is art and memory and sentimental display and I have to say, I love it and just maybe I've reduced my carbon footprint by a percentage point.