Young artist, already more crafty than her mother

Ellie spent the weekend with my parents, so we got a lot of important business taken care of, and also slept in and lazed about and talked about how much time we must have wasted before we had a baby. (We had what I can only assume was hours and hours of spare time every day. What did we DO with it?) I also cashed in a swanky spa gift card that Mike got me for my birthday. While I was in the massage table, I had brilliant ideas for four or five different blog posts, but by the time my hour was over I had completely forgotten all of them. That’s how good the massage was.

One of the things we accomplished was selecting and hanging Christmas lights. I spent a ridiculous amount of time in the seasonal section of Canadian Tire, mulling and dithering and comparing and fretting, and eventually decided on … white. Boring, right? I was hoping for elegant, and they had lights that supposedly wouldn’t be quite as BLUE a white as the usual LEDs, but they actually are quite blue, which is fine, I suppose. I expect things will change from boring to festive once we chop down our tree and put it in my office, which happens to have a large window that faces out onto the street.

That leaves the wreath to still be dealt with. My friend Sarah, who is a bit of a wreath aficionado, found and recommended a few to me. The issue is our front door is a rather bright shade of aqua blue and is therefore incompatible with the colour schemes of most Christmas wreaths. I’ve seen a ton of Christmas balls in the right shade of blue, so now I’m contemplating buying a plain green wreath and making my own. By … gluing the balls on? With a hot glue gun? I assume? It seems like it would be fairly straightforward, but I am the least crafty person alive. (Case in point: we made cards at my church’s women’s group to give to people who are going through a difficult time, and even with following a very simple design to follow, my card was laughably bad, to the point where someone at my table actually said of the eventual recipient, “Haven’t they suffered enough?”) Chances are fairly good that I will buy the supplies, create some sort of seasonal abomination, and then order one of the ones Sarah suggested, which is what I probably should have done in the first place.

We also got some lights to hang around the railing of our deck. I wanted multi-coloured, and most of the multi-coloured lights come on strings — I’m sure you are going to be just as appalled as I am, unless you are one of those creative sorts for whom randomness is a source of joy — where the lights are arranged all willy-nilly, with no logical order or pattern to them at all. I am in no way exaggerating when I say that contemplating purchasing such a thing caused a nails-on-the-chalkboard feeling in my brain. Why would anyone buy that? If there is no order to the colours in your Christmas lights, there is only CHAOS. And possibly anarchy. On the way home, I suggested to Mike that I would make an excellent code breaker, given my deep and abiding love of patterns. He disagreed, saying something about how there is “too much math” involved in code breaking, especially in these days of computer generated algorithms and such, and now I am devastated to suddently find myself in the market for another backup career in case this whole freelance writer thing goes bust. Perhaps I should join an assembly line at a Christmas light factory and show them what’s what.

On the way to pick Ellie up from my mom, we drove through a small town called Arthur, which advertises on its sign that it is the “Gateway to Wellington North”. Mike and I brainstormed a few suggested slogans in the same vein:

 

  • Arthur: You Drive Through Here on Your Way to Somewhere Else
  • Arthur: You Stop Here to Pee
  • Arthur: Please Don’t Feel Obligated to Stop, We Understand You’re in a Hurry