Some families have crests painted above the fireplace in their country manor. Other families choose to go to horsey camp wearing coordinating tie dye muu muus. Yes, ‘tis a sad fact but true. This one time… at horsey camp… there was a large group of socially challenged individuals who came to the dining hall sporting their best duds to do their home schooling craft time. It was sad, sad, sad. And no we didn’t make fun of them at all. Would my mother and I do such a thing? I’m sure I didn’t say a mean word at all when I returned from having to square dance with nerd dad. Yes, I alternated between nerd dad and Jimmy, the tattooed Texan*, all night. I’m such a lucky girl it gives me shivers.
Anyway, my family is severely lacking in the crest and muu muu department.
However, give us time. Because we all know what’s coming when the genetic glimmer starts in our eyes and our fingers start to twitch… Say it with me… “I can make something out of that!”
I’m pretty sure I’m actually the illegitimate child of Martha Stewart and MacGyver because I can think of no better challenge than hearing I had to make a prom dress out of an orange juice carton, an old tire and duck tape. And you know you’re all reading this imagining how you too could turn garbage into couture.
This is a wonderful trait and has pretty much been the basis of my personal philosophy for my entire life. Really, I’m planning to have it engraved on my headstone. Who knows, maybe I’ll take up stove carving and do it myself.
But the problem here is that this little dictum prevents me from throwing away anything. Coffee grounds… could be used in antiquing a quilt or something. Old newspapers… did somebody say “origami”?
Part of my three-part mission to finish the diss, become a skinny mini and be as organized as a German minimalist on uppers is seriously thwarted by my complete compulsion to craft. Let me demonstrate with evidence:
Case Number 1: What, you mean you don’t have a giant glass globe full of lace balls? It’s all the vogue, really. This is the product of a going-out-of-business auction where I meant to buy their yarn supply and came home with an entire trunk full of sewing notions. I’ve already unloaded 43 sets of bra straps from this little find. And no, I’m not exaggerating. There was a brief moment where I considered making 43 new bras, but an alien invaded and told me this was absolutely ridiculous. (I only saved 5 sets, just in case I think of something to make with them.)
Anyway, the lace… It has actually been used. See?
In one of my crafting fits, I crocheted a lace rug to put at the edge of my bed so I have a little something to put my toes on when it’s oh-so-cold in the morning. Cute, but there’s a problem. The stupid thing slides on my floor. No, you shouldn’t imagine me crawling out of bed in the o’dark thirty hours of the day and busting my ass because my bed rug went flying across the room. It wasn’t funny, I promise.
Really, I don’t like rugs. They’re hard to keep clean. They always scoot around. And we all know that they’re a health hazard. We all remember the injuries from THE RUGS IN THE HALL. How many times did the family yell as we zipped down the hall at MomMom and BobBob’s? Don’t run. Yet, we ran. Well, sometimes we stopped and that’s when trouble started. Imagine the physics here. 5 snot-nosed grandkids busting down the perfect, long runway, until the voices from the living room caused us actually to behave for once. So we stopped. The rugs, they didn’t stop. There was a train wreck of giant proportions. It really is a wonder Chris wasn’t suffocated in the pile-up. Yes, rugs are a bad, bad thing.
So what in the hell do you do with all this lace? Trust me, I’ve spent many a morning commute pondering the deeper philosophy of lace crafting. I gots a whole lotta nothin’. Yet the lace stays.
Or it stayed.
Today, I took what may be a small step for a normal human, but really is a giant leap for compulsive crafters everywhere. The lace, she has been shipped out. Maybe someone will find her and love her.
I've heard rumors that the "gonna make something out of that" theme is contagious. Last night, when I admitted to cutting up old shirts for quilts in one of my more Amish moments, Laurie told me about a certain suitcase full of her grandmother's dresses. What a kindred spirit...
*The Jimmy tale is a good one. Maybe tomorrow you’ll hear why it’s best not to judge a guy by his dog collar.
Diss: Nada, Friday tends to be a bad writing day. Must make up for it tomorrow.
Diet: I’m not even acknowledging this has started… until tomorrow.
Ditching the Stuff: may the lace and all the rugs she was destined to be rest in peace.