 How a simple idea grew in something (almost) too much to handle .. and why I didn't give up When I started my Solitaire project, the idea was to create a simple book from a poem I wrote. What I ended up with was far more complicated ...  When I decided to use the poem to create a small book, it was an exercise in bookmaking. A one-off experiment. Once I decided to make the book, I thought it might be nice to make a box to hold it. And then ... if there's a box, why not include a deck of cards. This is about a card game after all. And then ... what if someone opens the box, reads the story and wants to play a game of Solitaire but doesn't know how? I must include instructions. But I can't just copy the instructions, that would be plagiarism. I'd have to write them in my own words. And then ... written instructions are good, but a diagram would be helpful. It seemed with each problem solved, I created more work for myself.  What have I gotten myself into? It was a lot. But there was still one unanswered question. What about illustrations? There are minimal pages in the book ... illustrations would add bulk and make it more visually interesting. But this time, my go-to art of collage didn't seem like the best option. Some recent explorations in doodling provided the answer. Simple black and white drawings of the playing card symbols: ace, club, diamond, heart.  Why I didn't give up ... It's simple, really. I've got too many unfinished projects on hand already. I wanted to finish this one. How I did it ... When I became frustrated with one bit, I turned to another. Building the clamshell box was the most difficult element. When I got frustrated with the box, I moved to work on the book. When the book hit a standstill. I switched to writing and illustrating the instructions.  Serendipity in the form of a deadline ... Each week I create the Story Starters calendar and looking ahead in February, I spotted Play More Cards Day ... on the 26th. It was weeks out and I decided it offered the incentive and deadline needed to get the job done. I almost gave up ... There was so much about this project that was new to me, that fought me, that made me doubt myself, made me ask, Why bother? So why did I finish it? Well, I shared it with you early on and wanted to be able to say I did it. Finished the job. And, it was important to me.  Like I mentioned earlier, I have lots of half-finished and half-baked ideas sitting idle. Some I want to finish, others I know I'll never go back to. This one holds special meaning. It wasn't easy, but it's done ... and yes, it was close ... I finished it late in the afternoon on the 26th. Will I make another? Hmmm, not so sure. Is it perfect? Far from it. But wow, doesn't it feels good open the box and see what's inside! Is there a project you've started but haven't finished? Is it time to give it up ... or finish it? 
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 Butterflies in your stomach? Though The Great British Baking Off and its spinoff, Junior Bake Off, have been broadcast for sometime, only recently have I settled in to watch more than just an episode here and there. I'm hooked. Part of the appeal is how cheerful it is. Some of it comes from the setting ... an open-air tent on a green lawn, the bright colors on the mixers, and generous dash of humor offered by the comedians who banter with the bakers. But there's more to it. There's the grit and determination of the bakers themselves. Especially the junior bakers. When the dough doesn't rise, the caramel burns, or the cake topples, they hang in there. And start over. Again and again. What looks like a looming disaster is somehow salvaged and sometimes, turned into a show-stopping winner. Tomorrow the calendar recognizes Idiom Week and when I searched for idioms, "butterflies in your stomach" caught my eye. The bakers start each competition with butterflies in their stomachs. They're nervous and excited ... each and every time. And they keep going. It's a good reminder to viewers like you and me to hang in there. To keep going ... even when we're not sure how. To try new things. I'm still struggling with the making of my solitaire book and box, but I'm not going to stop ... though I've been tempted. One of the biggest challenges was to find a way to make a box that would hold both the book and a deck of cards ... and I finally figured it out.  A well for the cards to sit in, with the book sitting on top of the well. That had me stumped for a while, too ... until I realized I could measure and make a dummy version to test it.
There have been a lot of heavy sighs and there's still a lot of figuring to be done, but I'm determined. Are you working on a project that's got you frustrated or stumped? A sentence, paragraph, or chapter that won't come together? A dropped stitch in a knitting project? A painting, skiing, or woodworking technique you just can't grasp? Keep trying ... and like the bakers, you'll get there.  Weeks into winter, we were 17" below average for snowfall, and then came the storms, one after another, and they dumped enough snow to make up the deficit. After the first storm it seemed we were living in a snow globe. Snow covered rooftops, trees, and streets ... for days. It was beautiful. After the snow came, I realized I missed the hush of a snow-covered landscape and the crisp air and blue sky that follows. But winter is cold, often frigid, dark, and sometimes it seems like spring is just so far away. One way to get through it is to get outside.  This is Snow Sculpting Week. For the past 15 years, I've made a winter beauty for my Happy Snow Days greeting card that goes out in December. Sometimes I plan ahead and make one in January or February for the following year. Other times I take a chance and hope for snow early in November or December ... and it's always worked out. Until it didn't.  For the first time in 15 years I didn't have a winter beauty for my winter greeting card. It was a mix of disappointment ... and relief. Every year I shiver at the thought of going outside to start another ... afraid I won't come up with anything as good as what I've done before ... worried I won't find the right materials or create the right expression. And it's cold.  Each one takes about two hours from start to finish.
I struggle with the thought of heading out into the cold and wring my hands and furrow my brow with concern. About halfway through, I have serious doubts. I take photos from the left and right to gain a better perspective ... to figure out what working, and what's not. Forage again for a different leaf, sprig, or twig to make the mouth right. Or the nose. My fingers get stiff with the cold and by the time I'm done, the cold has reached my core. Creating, making, and building things come with challenges. It's to be expected. With each winter beauty there was doubt, but when they were done, I felt a sense of accomplishment, glad I braved the cold and pushed aside my doubts. But I cannot ignore that sense of relief I felt when it didn't snow. So I've been mulling it over. ... will I make another, or have I done all I can do with them? How do you know when to stop? When persistence no longer applies. When walking away from a project you've enjoyed is the right thing to do? There's plenty of snow on the ground, but I'm not sure ...  Happy New Year The month of January is hobby month, and I decided to share my paper snowdrops because they're cheerful ... especially when photographed in the sunlight. Turns out, snowdrops are also the flower of the month for January and, not surprising, they represent hope and rebirth. Excellent! The flowers I make are the ones that capture my attention. It's that simple, really. There are no ulterior motives ... other than hoping I have the paper and supplies I need on hand ... and finding the instructions and tips I need to create them. When I did the research on snowdrops, I held my breath, worried that the flower might symbolize something unfavorable. What then? I was glad that the snowdrop represents hope and rebirth, but maybe I don't need to worry so much about it. Every flower I've researched has multiple meanings. Each one, in some way, symbolizes hope, love, and sorrow ... the very things life embodies. Symbolism ... is it helpful or a hindrance? Like flowers, the new year is full of symbolism ... endings and new beginnings, a fresh start. Have you made resolutions? Yes. No? Either way, maybe the best we can do is focus and apply ourselves to the things we want to create, do, or change; work at accepting what can't be changed; and in the meantime, pause to see the wonder that surrounds us. The remarkable petals of a flower, the sound of the wind through the trees, the tears that come when you chop an onion, or the comfort found in a spoonful of warm soup when there's a chill in the air. But most of all ... remember that starting or staying with something new is never easy, but persistence is key. Happy New Year!  When things appear to be stacked against you, think again
Since the death this week of actor Angela Lansbury, there have been tributes, articles, and stories about her life. Not surprising, given her decades-long career that touched generations of loyal fans. She was an award-winning movie, television, and theater actor, as well as the voice of Mrs. Potts, the talking tea pot in the animated film, "Beauty and the Beast." In reading and listening to the tributes, I was struck at how often her looks were mentioned. ... by her and others. One article stated, "She may have lacked the classic good looks and voice of her era, but ...." And another quoted Lansbury: "I wasn't very good at being a starlet," she said. "I didn't want to pose for cheesecake photos and that kind of thing." Works for me, I don't like cheesecake. And evidently, it worked for her. By all accounts she was a successful and respected actor. But she was also passed over for roles and awards she hoped to win. But she didn't give up. It can be so easy to judge ourselves against the expectations of others. What's beautiful, who's pretty. Who has won awards, who hasn't. And to think or worry that it matters. It's hard to know how Lansbury really felt about her looks and how she was judged. But in the end, as she said, "I was a primarily an actress and not a pretty face." She was an actor who wanted to act. And she did that by taking roles that came her way. By doing the work. Because you never know where it might lead ... and because it may, as Lansbury said, "turn out to be the thing that will lead you to the role which is sublime." I found all the commentary about Lansbury's looks discouraging. But now I see that in her willingness to talk about her looks and how she was perceived, she taught us something. Whether you yearn to act, paint, write, cook, sew, sing, hike, run, or swim, focus on doing just that. Ignore the naysayers ... and the looks and success of others. Do the thing you want to do ... it's the best way to get to where you want to be.  Knowing takes time When I placed the order for materials to make paper flowers, I had to wait a week for delivery. It was disappointing, but I did what I probably wouldn't have done had the materials arrived sooner ... read the book I borrowed from the library (the whole book, not just a chapter here or a passage there, the whole book), watched some videos (thank goodness), and found lots of examples of what's possible with paper flowers. Amazing. And then the paper arrived. I waited until the next day to get started, suddenly seized by doubt and overwhelm. The anticipation was over, now it was time to do the work. It's hard being a beginner Deep in crepe paper with sticky fingers, glue on my clothes, and scraps of snipped paper all over the place, I found myself mired doubt. This might be too much, I told myself. And I pouted ... wondering if it really was all too much. But, after multiple breaks to wash the glue from my fingers, a lot of deep breaths, and three hours of concentration, I had my first flower. A white cosmos. The finished flower was such an accomplishment. It's given me the incentive to keep going. To keep trying. Eager to see how well I did, I took the paper flower up the street and nestled it in among the real ones growing on the corner lot. I'm working on my second flower and feeling the same doubts ... is this worth it? Do I really want to pursue this? I'm not sure, but I do know what I need to do: Give it time. It would be easy to give up now. I'm frustrated and want quick results, but I know better. It's a familiar feeling. The same feeling I get when I start writing ... this newsletter, a letter to a pen pal, and just every other writing project. It's the feeling I got when I was painting room after room in the house these past few months. And so many other projects. But I've learned: staying with it matters. Is there something you're ready to bail on? Would it be better to hang in there a bit longer? Sometimes, it is good to say, "Nah, I think I'm done." But other times, we just need to dig a little deeper, hang in a little longer. After all, you never know how things might blossom ...  My second flower, the thistle, is a work in progress. The purple bits are too long, but I'm afraid to cut them. Afraid I'll cut too much and regret it. So I'm leaving it alone for a while. But I'm not giving up ... yet.
 Alarm bells sounded high and low, all around the pond. From a distance we heard the persistent screech of the blue jay, then the urgent squawk of a duck, and as we neared the pond, the bong-bong call of the frogs. What, we wondered, was going on? Stopping at the edge of the pond, we scanned the water, the trees, and the sky, listening and looking. And then we saw it. A big owl, a Barred Owl (yes, we had to look that up when we got home), perched in a tree on the edge of the pond. I'm not sure if the frogs were sounding an alarm, mating, or doing what frogs do, but the duck and the blue jay were visibly agitated. The ducked paddled frantically from one area to the next squawking all the way. The blue jay, in full screech with fanned tail, was swooping down at the owl ... from the left, then right, again and again and again. But that owl. Talk about composure. It flicked an ear and spun its head at the bluejay's aggressive fly-by graze, but otherwise it remained still. Focused.  Fascinating stuff ... and the final entry for the day in yesterday's good things journal: 3. the owl in the woods I started the good things journal last month. A list of three good things I see, experience, do, or feel during the day. Every day. It's a matter of semantics, really. Like me, you've probably seen the prompts to keep a gratitude journal (and maybe you already do), but somehow that never materialized for me. Until I read about a "good things list." It's simple. I keep a small notebook and pencil within ready, on a table in the living room. The idea is to make a list of three different good things you experience every day. Short entries, a few words each. Here are some of the entries I've made (with the original numbering): 3. clean sheets 4. trip to the library 5. takeout pizza from Otto 2. raking the yard 1. the sun is shining 2. almond flour chocolate chip cookies 4. Wordle in two 1. a good night's sleep 2. got the laundry done 3. the own in the woods Like the owl, despite the unexpected swoop of outside influences, I've remained focused. One entry at a time ... on the good. And yes, it feels good. Sometimes I write one thing at a time as it comes to me during the day, other times I write my list at the end of the day. And more often than not, once I get started, I'll remember something and add that to the list, coming up with not just three, but four or five, sometimes six or seven good things about my day. Not monumental, over-the-top exciting things, but small pleasures that, in remembering and recognizing them, make it a better day ... today and tomorrow.  If you're working on a project, hang in there. Try something different. But most of all, don't give up. Give it time.
This cactus is my only plant. I'm fairly certain the only reason it survives is that it is a cactus and it doesn't need a lot of water. And that's a good thing, because I forget to water it. All the time. Dry as a bone when I take it down off the shelf. So I water it and talk to it and earnestly try once again to remember not to let it go so long. It was a little starter plant when I brought it home. Just a few sprigs. But it was healthy. It blossomed and flowered ... and maybe even more than once a year, I think. Is that possible? When it grew too large for the starter pot, I re-potted it ... and then again when it outgrew that pot. It did well and continued to flower. Year after year. Until it didn't. It just stopped flowering and I don't know why. I talked to it, I paid more attention to watering and fertilizing, and did some research. But nothing. For years. I tried moving it from one room to another, some with more light, some with less, but it never made a difference. Last year I put it in yet another location, high up on the top of a book case. And something shifted. It came back to life with a whole bouquet's worth of flowers. More plentiful, joyful, pink, and beautiful than ever. Was it a fluke? Would it flower again? I wasn't sure. It was not a fluke. It blossomed again this year with another round of fireworks ... new blossoms opening day after day. I'm not sure what made it stop flowering, and I'm not sure what made it blossom again, but it reinforces the idea that we have to hang in there. Keep trying different things until something clicks.  Off to a good start? Do you make your bed? I know my mother encouraged it when I was growing up, but it was my grandmother who found a way to make it happen ... and I think of her still when I change the sheets. There was no pestering or pleading, she simply set the scene ... with new bedding. It was the best after-school treat I never imagined I might crave. It was mid-afternoon when I arrived home from school and found the mismatched jumble of pillows, sheets, and blankets I'd left on the bed earlier in the day replaced with perfectly plump pillows and coordinated sheets tucked under a matching comforter. I was spellbound. Nothing but the bedding had changed, but there was new order to my small room, and I was all in. The 11th of this month is Make Your Bed Day. Some do, some don't ... some only when company's coming. But there's evidence that suggests it might be a good idea. It was also a key point in Admiral William H. McRaven's popular commencement address delivered to the 2014 graduating class at the University of Texas. "If you make you bed every morning," McRaven says, "you will have accomplished the first task of the day. It will give you a small sense of pride, and it will encourage you to do another task, and another and another." He goes on to say that even if you have a miserable day, when it's time for bed, you will be reminded that you did in fact accomplish something that day ... you made your bed. I made mine. Did you? (Tucked or untucked?) p.s. The same could be said for any project or goal you're working on. Try to work on it early in the morning, at the same time of day, or the same day every week. The routine/scheduling can help you move forward.  At the end of the block on the corner there's a garden planted on the edge of the road. It's tucked between the street and a stockade fence. It's so small, and jammed into such a small space, it seems more than a garden. It's a declaration. A fertile sign of determination and grit.
Someone wanted a garden and they were not to be deterred. They wanted to grow peas, and tomatoes, and peppers. We know that's what's growing because they impaled the empty seed packets on sticks to mark what was in the ground. And we've watch them grow for weeks now. There's a tradition in New England ... peas and salmon on the Fourth of July. Why? The salmon swim upstream this time of year, just when the peas begin to sprout. I'm not sure the neighbors will pair salmon with their peas, but the garden's bounty is proof there's plenty to be savored when the seed of determination is planted.
Figuring out what works Collage work has become my go-to art form. After trying a bit of watercolor, line drawing, pencil, and more, collage is it. It's the perfectly imperfect nature of collage that works for me. It's not that things are sloppy or unfinished. No, I pay attention to detail and form, but its more conceptual than precise. Finding the rhythm All of my collage work is done with painted sheet music. No other papers: no book pages, receipts, or found paper. Just sheet music. That, too, took a while to figure out. There are no distracting words on the page and I like how the music adds texture to the pieces I cut. And I've learned it best to keep a supply on hand. A stack of painted sheets. An assortment of reds and yellows, blacks, grays, and greens. Blues, purples, and pinks. Each with varied amounts of paint, rough edges, and dry brush strokes. Ready when the ideas are If I have an idea, I like to sit down and start in. If I have to begin from scratch, to paint the colors I want or need, I risk losing some of my enthusiasm, some of the spark that comes with having a new idea. Having an assortment of colors on hand helps me stay with the idea, to keep my momentum. I've been running on scraps for a few weeks now and I can feel it holding me back. Little bits of paper cut from larger sheets. Yesterday I ran out of the green I wanted. Lots of scraps, but not enough to finish what I started. It's time to take stock ... and restock. Painting the sheets has become part of the process. Part of the preparation. Be sure you've got what you need to get started. It could make all the difference.  A big sigh for DIY Yesterday I became the reluctant fixer when the hose on the back of the dryer disconnected. I couldn’t get it reconnected and it started a string of lefty-loosey, righty-tighty missteps, YouTube videos, and a trip to the hardware store where a patient and far-more knowledgeable expert put and end to my cycle of frustration.
Are you handy? Most of the time I would say I am. But truth be told, it depends when you ask. Yesterday when I was in the middle of trying to attach that hose, I would have answered with a resounding no. Today, basking in the satisfaction of a job well-done (well, done anyway), I’m more likely to say yes. It’s a truth most of us can relate to. Doing something for the first time comes with unique challenges:
The key of course of course is pushing through. Though I wanted to give up, and nearly did, I knew it wasn’t an impossible task. Connecting a vent hose requires minimal tools and supplies ... there’s no rewiring of electricity or other element involved that would best be left to a professional. But I couldn't do it alone. It took seven YouTube videos, two hours of trial and error, and two trips to two different hardware stores before I figured out what was missing and found what I needed: A missing element and some guidance. It also meant letting go. Of a quick fix, of all I had planned for the morning, of perfection, and frustration. Though I won’t been installing dryer vent hoses on a regular basis, it’s a good, and constant, reminder that while there can be a quick fix here and there, it’s not the rule. We’re better served, it seems, to recognize things will take more time and effort than expected. That frustration is part of the deal, and a little help from an expert goes a long way. That even though what we’re trying to accomplish may not always be easy or fun, what we’re left is increased confidence, a bit more know-how, and a deep sigh of satisfaction. |
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