The Deliberate Life

Holiday Crafting - It's a Go!

It's safe to say that holiday crafting is now officially in progress. Actually, if you count the gift I made myself, it began on Sunday. (Everyone makes themselves a gift before starting anyone else's right?). Last night I started these super easy slippers. I used some scrap yarn last week to make up a quick one to make sure I could make these and have them not look utterly handmade (with holes and split yarn and such). Good news! I can.

I plan on making a few sets of these up. They're great for any of the ladies on my gift-giving list. They work up really quickly too, which is always a plus for the gal who has grand plans for crafting and cooking and baking this season.

Is my love of green completely obvious in this picture? Green blanket? Check. Exact same green yarn used in the pattern? Check. 

Post finished? Check.

 

Listen. Smile. Listen. Smile.

Repeat

Do Yourself a Favor

Get yourself to a library (or a bookstore) and pick yourself up a copy of The House at Riverton. Change into pajamas, curl up with a blanket on the couch, and lose yourself in this fantastic book. (Honestly, the best I've read in a long time.) It's the perfect book for fall - just a bit haunting and mysterious. Do this every night for a week until you finish it. (If I didn't have to sleep and wake up for work and do other various "living" I probably would have read it straight through.)

And though I don't recommend it, finishing it up while you're sick and under a pile of blankets almost makes it that much better. Almost. 

Addicted

 

Kevin and I tend to get addicted to food ... pho, ramen, pasta mama (notice a noodle trend?). I guess when we like something, we really like it. We found out recently that one of our friends drives about 10 miles just to get coffee at a shop near our house. A lot. Naturally, we had to go there. Let's just say the first day we went, we went twice. It isn't just the coffee that is good (it's good, trust me), it's the vibe the place gives off. Most coffee places feel so unwelcoming these days. With its overstuffed chairs and couch and plentiful seating, this place just begs you to sit down and truly enjoy your coffee. (In a giant latte mug complete with latte art.)

Needless to say, we've been back multiple times since last week. 

Yum.

Gaining Focus

My, it's been a while since I was last here. Life's been busy, and I was doing my best to slow it down and gain some sort of focus. I'm happy to say that I think focus has been achieved.

You see, I reached a point where I was spending more time overwhelmed by my creative goals than actually doing anything creative. And gosh, I need to be creative. And let's not talk about how much money I was spending on art supplies that will never be touched. Something needed to change.

I realized I needed to pick my favorite creative outlets and stick with them. I had to be honest with myself. Yes, I think about scrapbooking often. I make grandiose plans to scrapbook, I buy a ton of paper and embellishments, but let's face it: I'm not going to scrapbook. The same goes for sewing. I buy fabric. I pick out things to sew. The thing is, I can't sew. Not a lick.

When it comes down to it, at the end of the day I find the most comfort by losing myself in a journal page or picking up some yarn and needles (or a hook). That's what my heart wants to do the most, and it's what brings me the most joy. 

So I've been paring my supplies down and keeping only what fits into my artistic heart. It's been a slow (and hard) process. I have a far way to go, but it feels good compiling a journaling tub, filled with my journaling essentials: paint, pens, pastels, brushes, and inkpads. I still have loads to go through, but it feels really good.

That being said, I finally got a chance to work on a page tonight. Maybe it was the difficult day I had, or maybe it was spending the day editing articles for Art Journaling, but I just needed to do it when I got home. And gosh. I feel better. 

I Get It

Growing up, my mom was always doing something with her hands. You could often find her sitting on the couch watching TV with us, cross stitch in hand. Other times, she would be at her sewing machine, no doubt sewing something for one of us. Then of course, there was the cake decorating, the quilting classes and the year she and my aunt made approximately 5 billion Christmas ornaments to sell at a local craft fair. Whatever it was, I wanted to do it too. She directed me through the next few stitches that needed to be made on her latest sampler. She held her hands on mine, guiding me through sewing my first straight line. She never objected to me pouring through her cake decorating books, and she taught me how to cut out squares so I could help her quilt. She even let me sew them together for her.

The value of creativity was something she nurtured in me. Any sort of creative interest was supported whole-heartedly by her. And I’ve always been extremely grateful for that. I never really questioned why she was so devoted to her creative side, and also to helping us grow ours. I just figured it’s something she liked to do. And of course, she did, but there was something more behind it.

It wasn’t until I started questioning my own burning need to be in tune with my creative self that I came to understand her more. Sure, she liked doing all of that. But the truth is, she needed it. She needed it to get through staying home with three young children who were most likely at each other’s throats all day. She needed it to get through the nights when my dad had to work late. She needed it to take her mind off financial woes or anything else that may have been troubling her.
 
I get it.
 
I get that working with your hands offers a respite from the mundane everyday. I get that nothing takes your mind off of a stressful situation more than intricate needlework. I get that sometimes all you can do to stay sane is to splash paint onto a page and let yourself get completely lost.
 
I get it.
 
Because let’s face it. Life is a beautiful blessing. It’s an amazing thing, but it can be hard. Things don’t always go as planned. There are always more bills to be paid than there is money to be made. Things break and need to be replaced. People change and friendships sour. We go through times that test us down to our very core.
 
But we find comfort in creativity. And though it doesn’t solve everything, it helps us get through it all.
 
I get it.
 
I talk to my mom every day after work and there are days where she seems just so tired and worn out from helping everyone all of the time. And I keep nudging her to dust off her sewing machine and start it up again, knowing the simple act of sorting through fabric will connect her with her former self.  
 
So isn’t it perfect that my old bedroom, the one she painted for me time and time again, is now her new sewing room? And now, the one whose creativity she nurtured is trying to nurture it in her? She has always wanted her own room to sew in. With the help and support of my dad, her lifelong dream can come true.
 
Because he gets it.

Art Keeps me Sane

There are times when my mind goes a mile a minute, and I truly can't think straight. My brain becomes flooded with thoughts but I'm completely unable to sort one thought from the next. And the only way to calm myself and think clearly is to paint. The other day this happened, and I was surprised at just how overcome I was with the yearning to pick up a paintbrush and just let loose. When I got home I raced to my journal.

Without any thought, I just started pulling things out and putting them down on the page. I didn't even notice when I stamped letters sideways. I let my mind do what it needed to do. And then it was all over, my mind was clear again. I was focused and I was calm.

Art offers me the sort of solace that nothing else can provide. No amount of therapy, no amount of beer or wine, no amount of screaming or crying calms me down the way art does. That's the beauty of an art journal. You can let it all out and not care what the outcome is.

This I Believe

I believe in the magic of the most ordinary moments.
I believe that the glow of candles can soothe your soul.
I believe in the power of the perfect book.
I believe in squishy socks with grips on the soles.
I believe in showering by daylight.
I believe in late night chats outdoors.
I believe in the sound of laughter.
I believe in the warmth of a cozy home.
I believe in good food.
I believe in family.
I believe that handwritten is better than typed.
I believe in kindness.
I believe that finding your passion will change your life.
I believe in the beauty of being a woman.
I believe that a snuggle with a cat can brighten the bleakest of days.
I believe in working hard.
I believe in true love.
I believe in life.

Giving Perle a Whirl (ha!)

You may recall that last week I picked up some Perle cotton and the teeniest crochet hook I've ever. And I played. And swore a little. And frogged a lot. But I always had the end product in mind. And it came out just like I had hoped.

 

All I did was crochet different colored circles, attach them by a chain stitch, and joined it all with a slip stitch. So quick, so easy and so handmade.

And so happy!

Oh, Youth ...

There are very few people who I'm able to describe my relationship with books to. When you're a book lover, you're one through and through, and there's no denying or hiding it. Each book you devour becomes a part of you, a part of the blueprint of who you are.

I learned to read at an early age. My mom can't remember if I was 3 or 4, but can vividly remember how hooked I was. From the moment I first picked up a book, I couldn't put them down, and that passion has only deepened with age. I can recall (with detail) the books which affected me and helped me become who I am today.

Who am I? I'm a bit Harriet the Spy crossed with a bit of Kristy Thomas. There's a hint of Amelia Bedelia mixed with just a tad Laura Ingalls. There's a touch of Emma Woodhouse and a dash of Isabel Archer. When a book touches me, it gets to my very core. And it's magical.

There have been so many authors, so many great authors, who I've thought were speaking straight to me, but no author has done that so as much as Judy Blume. If you get to know me, you'll see some Sally J. Friedman, crossed with Deenie and Linda, with a dash of Stephanie and Sheila. How did Judy know me so well?

After diving into Everything I Need to Know About Being a Girl I Learned From Judy Blume, I realize just how many girls felt the exact same way as me. Her books seem to find me at just the right time in my life, when I needed them most. Judy had the power to make us feel normal, even at the most awkward stages of our lives.  And today, as I was reading one of the contributors' reflections on friendship, I found myself brought to tears, nodding along with what she had to say.

I've always believed that you seek out the books you need in that particular time of your life, whether you realize it or not. And I firmly believe that I need this book at this very second in my life. I need to reflect on the girl that I was, and realize I was normal, even if I felt like a complete mutant while growing up. And I need to thank Judy Blume for helping me grow into the woman I've become.