I don’t mind the warm summer days, but I do despise warm and humid summer nights. I always know that once the temps rise for good, I’m in a holding pattern until fall before I sleep well through the night again. Even with air conditioning.
When I was in junior high and high school (okay, it was this way all through my school years), we didn’t have central air conditioning. Mom and Dad had a window unit in their bedroom and we had one on the main floor of the parsonage, but for the most part, I was … hot at night. We put a big box fan in my window and every summer I moved my bed so I could plaster myself up against it. Now, here’s the funny thing. I wouldn’t have that great memory if we’d had air conditioning, so how can I complain?
I try not to complain too much about weather anyway. It won’t change things. I’d rather live in the Midwest than anywhere else and if I’m patient, it will change.
This summer has been a good one. My oldest nephew had a brand new baby – Alistair. His sister got married to a wonderful young man and his brother will be getting married in two weeks. I’ve published a book, made new friends from the Bellingwood community, edited for my brother’s next book (and short story – check him out at Fickle Dragon), been able to continue writing. What more could a girl ask for? Not much. My cat is aging and as he does, he gets more and more affectionate and less and less bratty. It makes the days a lot of fun.
For that matter, the nights are entertaining with TB, too. If he hears any noise, he bolts off the bed to chase it down. He wakes up at dawn – no matter that I went to sleep an hour earlier because I’d been writing all night. When he wakes up that early, he insists that I be alert enough to play with him. It’s not about being fed – he has food in his dish (I’m not that dumb). No, it’s about me paying attention to him. If I don’t, he’ll run from the depths of the house to the bed and land on it with all his weight. Who knew that cats could choose how much weight per square inch they use. He CAN jump on the bed without disturbing me, but not at 5:30 in the morning. If I still try to sleep, he’ll jump on his cat tree in front of the window and scratch at the glass until I tell him to stop. And if he really needs attention, he’ll jump on top of me and bug me until I sit up. That’s all it takes. I need to acknowledge that he’s around and tell him that I love him. Silly feline.
Last February, Amazon announced a Daily Deal – a Singer sewing machine for an amazing price. I knew it needed to happen. Oh, I had my mother’s 1950’s cast-iron Singer. But it needs work and is in Omaha … and well, it just wasn’t going to happen. So I bought it. That has been the best thing I’ve done in years. I’ve always been a sewer (seamstress would imply a level of skill I won’t claim yet). I remember learning on an old treadle machine. Mom figured that was safe enough for me so I wouldn’t hurt myself. She sewed everything for us kids from toys to clothing. She covered and recovered our furniture, made curtains and drapes. There was nothing she wouldn’t attempt.
Before I was married, Carol and I lived together and at some point I refurbished Mom’s machine and re-found my love of sewing. There were years and years of fun things being created between the two of us. Then, I got married, got busy with the business and church activities and there was no time. The sewing machine kept getting put further and further back in the craft room, and then I even ran out of time to do any type of crafts.
What was I thinking? I had put away nearly all of my creative outlets. Since I purchased this machine in February, there have been very few days when I haven’t used it. When I was in the middle of editing and publishing Book 10 – The River Rolls On, I didn’t have time. Every day I would look at my machine and realize that I was missing the tactile sensation of creating something with my hands.
I think we all need that. The other night I was thinking about creation and the fact that God is all about creation. He didn’t stop … he rested. And he created us with minds that search and hearts that explore. We were made to be creative and innovative and imaginative. We were given talents … not just one … but many. There is no limit to the things we can imagine and create.
I find myself desperately desiring more time in the day so I don’t have to stop working on a project, or writing a chapter. I stay up until all hours of the night because I’m not ready to be finished with this day’s work. My mind and body wear out long before my desire to create does.
What types of things do you do that fulfills your drive to be creative? What do you wish you could be doing (why aren’t you?)? It’s amazing that so many of us don’t believe we are creative because it seems as if the things we do are so mundane. We’ve done them our entire lives. But I’ve learned that there is also no limit to the different talents people have. What one person believes is mundane, another sees as magic.
Now, I probably need to hunker down and get some other things done, but this ding-donged sewing machine keeps calling me back … like a siren singing its beautiful song to the sailors on the ocean. I’m lost to its music. Maybe one of these days I’ll finally confess my latest addition to the sewing addiction. Yikes.