Type-Oh!

Ok, I’ll admit it. I did it. After years of study, I neglected to draw upon my self-financed college education. Years of papers, projects, and late-night cramming for classes whose names I will never remember. That final Spring Break spent in the library, working on a major paper, while seemingly everyone else went South, spending time in the sand. I worked hard, and, among other things, learned how to proof different genres of writing.

Years later, all that hard work paid off with my first book, Asperger’s in Pink, hitting the shelves shortly.

Writing calls to me. Poking and prodding, doing anything possible to gain my attention. A few months ago, I decided to plunge into the Blogosphere where I could write freely, creatively, hoping for a minutiae of feedback along the way.

And then I wrote a piece I thought was mildly funny.

And left it there, for all the world to read.

A little while ago, I pulled this Blog up, and there it was, laughing in my face.

The typo.

It’s rather obvious, and glares at me. I should have known better. I should have caught it. Alas, I shall slink away, realizing that this writer does, indeed, need a mechanic.

Not to mention, I’ve gained a greater appreciation for my editor.

(Feel free to find it, and note it in the Comments!)

Sneak Peak of Next Week's ArtFire Blog on a Mundane Studio Items of Mine

Hey everyone, here is a sneak peak at my blog, which will run on ArtFire next Wednesday. I'd love to know if you can relate to this! Have a great day!

Ok, I'll admit it. Some of the items that fill my studio are...boring. Like placemats and coasters. My daughter would add to that list. After all, she’s a teen, and does know more than I ever will. At the top of my list of the lackluster are long, lean bags, which fill my collection. Bags with a simple loop handle attached to each.

With moderate holes in the bottom.

No matter how hard I’ve tried to make them exciting, alluring, desirable, the fact can’t be changed that they are what they are. That thing you keep on your doorknob to keep plastic bags off the floor.

Unless you shove them in too firmly.

Plop. Drat.

In an age of “green”, plastic bags are a necessary nuisance for so many of us, still. So, I suppose, admitting we even have them is nothing most of us wish to shout from the street. Or admit that we make things that collect them. Like plastic bag holders, which my family has dubbed: BagBags.

But, alas, they remain. Nevertheless, they are quite useful, as they allow us to keep the grocery bags for reuse – and out of sight, adding a splash of personality to wherever we choose to store them. So, I’ll continue to make and create the “mundane”, striving to make them as striking as possible. After all, they are, well, practical.

That Little Light of Mine

My little light bulb blew out the other day. Not the kind attached to my ceiling fan that needs a ladder – or my husband – to change out. Not the one screwed into the lamp on my nightstand that barely gives off enough light to tell whether or not my socks match. No, the one that “went” is far more useful to me. It belongs to my sewing machine. It’s just a little thing, rarely blown. Over sixteen years, I think I’ve only replaced it once. Maybe twice. Which is why I initially put off buying a new one.

I could not, for the life of me, remember how to remove the old one.

Sure, I could check the manual. But that required remembering where I put it.

Stubborn that I am, and a new project to pulling me harder than getting into a hot car and driving forty minutes for that 4 second errand, I turned the machine on and sewed. And squinted. And breathed loudly, which is one of several coping mechanisms for not saying those things I really don’t want to utter out loud. Or hear my daughter utter out loud. Well, one project done.

And that was it.

No matter how much I tried to encourage myself that my maternal ancestors sewed using treadles, and markedly less light that I surely had, I gave up. It was simply too hard to see. Too hard to tell if what I was making needed more seam ripping than my average product.

Not that I ever use a seam ripper…right? Hmm…

This made me wonder if perfection was held to a different standard back then, if function over perfect seams ruled the day. Or were they simply more attuned to the feel and motion of fabric, needle, and machine?

Regardless, somehow, without breaking it, I figured how to remove the little oblong light. And, somehow, without damaging the machine, I figured how to insert the new one.

Ah, light!

Now, onto “skill”. Too bad I can’t purchase that!

Pass the Coffee. Please.

It's a bad habit. I know that it is. Steaming, fragrant coffee with a splash of cream. No sugar. No sweeteners. Just moderately hot and refillable. And caffeinated.

Especially today. As I sit typing, I'm taking bets on how many cups and how many filters (non-bleached, of course), it will take to awaken from the weekend.

It really was a good weekend. Anything but boring. Then again, "middle school" and "boring" rarely fill the same sentence. Unless you are the middle schooler. And you are in class. Or home, listening to your parents talk about...well, anything.

For a handful of middle schoolers, last weekend was thrilling. Last weekend meant "field trip", an out of state, overnight, how-much-can-I-push-the-limits field trip. How can I sneak over here? How can I escape over there? How many times can I roll my eyes until the teacher catches me? How quickly can I spend all that cash? Sure, some were angels. Some were quiet. Some showed maturity well beyond, well...the others.

For us, the brave, the chaperones, it was an exercise in herding cats.

It's a funny thing. Somehow, once children turn into teens, they consistently and repeatedly announce to the world they are the new intellectuals. They do, indeed know everything. And they know it better than anyone over the age of thirty ever did - and ever will.

Despite the fact that 25 cent slime from a vending kiosk is super cool.

Especially when you wrap it around a drinking straw.

And so is seeing how many super stuffed chocolate candy infused cookies can be eaten in a quick stop for lunch.

And we weren't even "there" yet.