I desperately want to be creative. I want to draw, write, sew, garden, remodel, etc. Then I sit down with a book or spend time on Facebook. I see posts and pictures from artists. I envy. I think, “I could totally do that. I want to do that.” But the kids need my attention and care. Chores lurk in the corner, silently screaming that they have been left undone for too long. The sun sets. The baby needs settled again. The cats purr and my pillow calls. My heart aches with creative longing. My mind chimes in to say, “It’s okay. Your attempts to draw, write, sew, garden, remodel, etc. usually aren’t all that successful anyways.”
Well, if I can’t do anything new tonight, I can at least remind myself that I have been creative in the past. I made things that I enjoyed creating and was satisfied with the results.
I did this one in a college art class using colored pencils.
This I crocheted in little hexagons while attending classes at the University of Illinois. It kept my hands busy so that I could focus during lectures. I then whip-stitched it together during finals week.
I wanted to keep this poem handy so I wrote it out on scrapbook paper and taped it to my fridge.
These autumn fleece pants with matching tailored jacket were made in 2005 when I was living in the Chicago suburbs. The haircut and style are my creation too, as are my bathroom shelves in the wall.*Sigh*