I realized the other day that one of the reasons I never go work in my art studio is because it feels like a gallery of unfinished projects. Like this one. A pair of embroidered felt baby booties that I completed - with the exception of the ties - one weekend back in February.
Officially, this was what I call a "felt warm-up project" - something simple and satisfying that I use to get my MAKE juices flowing. I knew early on that I would never crochet the ties per the directions but, somehow, buying a yard of velvet ribbon seemed to be the beta blocker to completion.
So here they are. Complete. And so is my old friend's baby girl, Iris Irene - born last month and totally beautiful, as seen on Facebook. I like the fact that the last time I remember hanging out with her Mom, we were 19, likely drunk, and rocking out to Crosstown Traffic on her Jimi Hendrix cassette tape.
Now, we've both got careers and husbands, accomplishments and deep thoughts to discuss [electronically], and that amazes me and makes me thankful - so few high school relationships ever get past high school in the mind. I still really like her and everything she does impresses me so I'm going to send her baby these freakin' booties.
Back when I started this blog, I was making things all the time. Just having the blog motivated me to get things done so I could share it with the universe - didn't matter what it was. I had all of these thoughts that had no place to land, and no one ever read them. I was lucky to see fourteen hits a day - most of them from my own computer, checking to see if anyone had read my blog yet. I was never going to be one of those bloggers who eventually posts a goodbye/thanks for everything/I won't be posting anymore type of post.
And I'm still not. But I'm aware of how much has changed in my mind over the last few years of writing. All this is? An anthropology of the way my own mind works, the things that inspire, take hold, take over my day. I used to crave connection with the world outside of my every day life. Now I find myself craving a little more anonymity so I can write about the things that are on my mind without offending the people I love and those that love me. I probably do that anyway, but even so, I'm still holding back.
I'd love to go all Brooklyn on your a**, and use words like motherfucker, kind of like Fashionably Late to the Party who gave me the word in the first place but really more like Jive "Eating prunes at my desk, who wants to do me?" Turkey but with a cherry orchard slant.
If I had that veil over my identity, I'd tell you the truth about myself - the unattractive parts; the sins, the memories of *not* being around a campfire with my parents, the long list of hurts I have intentionally dealt to others, mostly out of fear that I was un-loveable. But you're not supposed to do that. I do some of that on this blog anyway, but you do learn the hard way not to be honest with coworkers, neighbors and even some friends.
Sometime, substitute "Tell the truth" for "I love you" and see what happens.
Eating 300-500 calorie breakfasts and protein at lunch will prevent chocolate binges later in the day.
Iron your thread before you hand sew or embroider - it makes everything go more smoothly, motherfuckah!
Put a lemon down your garbage disposal and your drain will freshen right up.