I made deadlines once upon a time and it was so superior to making headlines. Yes, I was dangerously good at making things happen in the nick of time. And now? Well, things happen. Things just don't always happen quite like I plan. Like now. BHM got a three-day head start, and Valentine's Day sneaked up on me in stealth mode and all barefoot. I was caught off guard, busy doing other things. Like still making books! Does this mean I'm a bookie?
I have all this beautiful paper languishing in dark spaces. Paper so fine! Handmade. Can paper languish? Thank you, Texas Art Supply.
And such cute little buttons for closures. So much good stuff. Limited time. A bottom line.
I wish you could
see feel it, this paper. If you saw it you'd understand why I saved it for so long. The first measured cuts were for a Moleskin journal cover.
Falling behind often means you're having a super good time doing other things. Cannot find my paper cement eraser although I put it where I knew I'd remember. It makes me believe our Uncle Frank is still with us. When things go awry or missing, we know to blame the invisible Uncle Frank. When things go bump in the night, we know it's Uncle Frank. Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov explains why the Uncle Franks of this world carry on as they do: They dislike us so much they'll stay out of sight until we are out of sight ourselves. That makes so much sense to me, yet how can a man who drinks as much as the Count, be so wise? This is his take on such uncles:
"Why is it that so many ghosts prefer to travel the halls of night? Ask the living and they will tell you that these spirits either have some unquenched desire or an unaddressed grievance that stirs them from their sleep and sends them out into the world in search of solace.
But the living are so self-centered.
Of course they would judge a spirit's nocturnal wanderings as the product of earthly memories. When, in fact, if these restless souls wanted to harrow the bustling avenues of noon, there is nothing to stop them from doing so.
No. If they wanted the halls of night, it is not from a grievance with or envy of the living. Rather, it is because they have no desire to see the living at all. . . . They wander about at midnight because at that hour they can generally do so without being harried by the sound and fury of earthly emotions. After all those years of striving and struggling, and hoping and praying, of shouldering expectations, stomaching opinions, navigating decorum, and making conversation, what they seek, quite simply, is a little peace and quiet. At least that is what the Count told himself as he drifted down the hall."
I wish Uncle Frank could show me how no to immerse myself so totally when learning something new. We had pizza tonight because making dinner would cut too deeply into my creative time. Spinach pizza for me, but I cooked a full dinner from scratch yesterday. So get off my back if you glommed on by mistake. I'm gonna figure this out!
This flap, the stamp, and the paper make this a favorite. I like paisley but hated it when I was a kid. Do you know the paisley design is originated in India? No? Well that's what I read, and "The Smithsonian Magazine"does not lie. Or was it Nat' Geo? Hmm.
The pretty new envelope has a little letter and something special tucked inside. Do you ever make envelopes that are so pretty you can't wait to send them to someone special? Then you don't because you can't bear to part with it??? Shucks. I do that a lot. And then I feel like I did that one time I got in trouble with my father because we pulled names at school, and the person who pulled my name gave me a pair of white socks. My gift to Carolyn, whose name I picked, was a lovely coloring book and a box of crayons. Twelve crayons! Well, when I saw the socks I was crushed. I thought on it, then told Carolyn she had to take my gift because my Mama told me not to accept socks if I got them. I lied. Sweet Carolyn kindly accepted her rightful Christmas gift and the world was right again.
When Mama asked what I'd gotten from the boy who'd pulled my name, I told her I'd taken my gift back and why. Well, she didn't say anything. When Daddy came home she told him what I'd done. I give him credit for asking for my side of things but still what followed made me feel as low as a worm. He didn't even take time to take off his combat boots and fatigues; Daddy explained that what I'd done was wrong, why, and how to remedy the mistake I'd made. It meant climbing into the car with the coveted coloring book and crayons, driving to Carolyn's home, explaining to her parents that I needed to have a word, and apologizing. I was so happy to have her take that guilt from me! Ever gracious, she did, and she returned the socks, and my world was bright again.
It turned out the boy who pulled my name liked me, and he asked his mother, who was friends with my mother, what he should get for me so I'd like him back. I hated boys! Boys went to Jupiter to get more stupider even back then! Well, his mother asked my mother, and my mother said socks. The (Ignominious) End!
So back to deadlines. I waited too late to make my Valentine mail. I had time. I just got sidetracked, and then tried to compensate, and made a mess of mistakes. I made so-o-o many mistakes.
I call this "Bleeding' Hearts" 'cause they bled through. All my drawing was for naught.
Perhaps I should have settled for "store bought?"
. . . to be continued