Letters

I forgot to send my grandmother her birthday card. I’ve become too busy to drop a card to my grandmother two days before her birthday. Most family members I send an e-card to them right around the day of their birthday is cheaper and more earth-friendly that way. However, it is also further proof to me that the art of letter writing is dying.

I have actually been thinking about this a lot lately. With my purchase of an iPhone, my parents learning how to text message, and emailing sometimes being a faster way to get a hold of some one than calling them we are more connected than ever these days. But the passion seems to have fallen out of those communications. It’s everyday and mundane, but we love it. Call me nostalgic, but I like going out to my mail box to find more than bills and junk.

When I was in high school I had a few pen pals. People I’d met at different functions and wrote back and forth with about monthly. This was in the late ‘90s when internet was starting to become a normal thing in the American household and I could have just as easily written emails back and forth but it wouldn’t have been the same. There’s something that goes in to sitting down and writing a letter to some one: picking out the stationary, what pen you’ll use, what you are and aren’t going to mention. There is so much more effort in that then writing 140 characters or less about your morning coffee. And really, if you think about it, not many people care about the mundane day to day things that we do in our life. In fact, there’s a line that we cross all too frequently in our over connectedness.

I’m not saying that I want to go back to a day when letter writing was the main form of communication, I would just like to revive the hand-written word. It shouldn’t be a dying art, but sadly it is.

Creative Drive

This morning I found myself trying to suppress the urge to just call in to work and just go home to be creative. On my walk from the MAX station to my office I can pass by two different stores that sell art of local artists, and at least one artsy clothing store depending on the path I choose to walk the eight or so blocks. Having a full time job I find that I often don’t have time to do the things I really want to do: write a novel, make jewelry, sew something or dig in the dirt of my garden. With that full time job comes paid time off, luckily, but there are only so many days that I can take off to balance with the work week.

Many other creative types understand the need for creative time, the desire to have a space dedicated to the goal of making something. For me, if I go too long with out indulging my urge to create to satisfaction I end up where I am now: longing to run away somewhere so I can do just that.

Holly Hobby

I often wonder if I have too many hobbies. When I was younger just about any craft that you put in front of me I would instantly become infatuated with. Often my mom would take me to Michael’s and we would wander the isles and I would say, like most children, “Oh Mom, can you get that for me?” She would take one look at the drawstring bag, or the beaded necklace, or piece of doll house furniture and respond “You could make that.” Now at this point in my life, fifteen or more years later, I don’t know if she was saying that as a way to get me to stop asking her for something or if she honestly believed that I could make everything I wanted. To this day, I still hear those words ringing in my ears when I go shopping.

I explored many, many crafts in my youth including: sewing and quilting, scrapbooking, cooking, baking, making miniatures for my dollhouse, flower arranging, writing, drawing, painting, collage, decoupage, gardening, and beading or jewelry making. I still practice a few of these hobbies to this day, and I may have picked up some new ones, and part of me is thankful for my Mom’s voice ringing out that I could make anything I wanted.

Now when I walk through a craft store my mind reels with all of the things I could make - oh that charm would look great on a beaded necklace, oh that fabric would make a nice skirt, etc. Truly, it’s a dangerous thing for me to walk in to a craft store unattended. I am glad though, that I have learned the importance of the reality check, because really I could make all of those things I want given the time and money. However, seeing as I have a full time job with an hour commute each way and a husband with three pets that don’t take too well to me ignoring them for long periods of time.

So I’m left with a mere few choices for my creative habits, but that’s okay with me. It is far less expensive, far less time consuming, and far less crazy making if I limit myself to the number of crafts I do. On the other hand, I can’t limit myself too much or I find myself crying out inside for a creative outlet. As it is with all things, hobbies come down to a balancing act.

Who Are You Calling Domestic?

I was talking to my Mom last night and telling her about how I had just made a batch of Pesto from the basil that I had grown – after I had done some sewing, and done a bit of gardening. Her response: “My, aren’t you domestic!” That comment irks me a little. What is so wrong with enjoying making things with your hands? If a man were to make a bench or fix a leaky pipe we would call him “handy” so why is it when a woman does traditional things she’s considered domestic?

I know that I can go to the store and purchase a jar of pre-made pesto, a necklace or a dress for the party I’m attending, or even as many tomatoes as I can fit in to my car but where is the joy in that? There’s a simple pleasure in producing something whether it’s sewn or home grown that you can’t get from picking it up off a shelf in the store. It may be more time consuming but at least you know what it is a product of.

I know that I made my favorite pajama pants, not some poor child laborer working for twenty cents a day in Indonesia. I know that the lettuce in my salad I grew from seed in my back yard, so I know it isn’t tainted with Hepatitis C or whatever the latest food outbreak is. The same goes for any other little thing that I create or grow, there’s a satisfaction in knowing where it came from and what went in to it.

I suppose that my adverse reaction is probably due to the word domestic itself. To me the word domestic causes a mental cross reference to animals that we have as pets or food stock – so domestic means they are no longer wild and untamable. The other image I get is the typical “bare-foot and pregnant in the kitchen”.

I guess one might even call it a cultural revolution that as of late gardening is growing in popularity and there seems to be a great number of people who still enjoy crafting and sewing regularly. My personal belief is that it needs a new name… instead of domestic just call me “make it yourself friendly.”