I often tease about being
crafty; I’m being facetious. Martha Stewart would have a heart attack at my
house. The only thing we have in common is cooking. Crafting is for people with
patience.
I was watching her show
the other day, and she was showing off obvious labor intensive homemade
Christmas presents. I’m sure if one of my kids had made one of them for me, I’d
be thrilled. However, these were produced to be gifted upon your children. All I could think of, though was what 16 year
old wants a set of coasters made out of gift wrap? As an adult, I’d think they
were adorable. My kids, however, would be unwrapping them as they searched for
the real present.
And if I’m being honest, I
don’t own coasters – a magazine or newspaper works just fine, if we use
anything. Plus, we have “kid friendly” furniture (translation: really cheap,
easily replaceable, and with no sentimental value whatsoever.). A hole in a
sock can easily be fixed with a safety pin, super glue, or just thrown away. At
my house, a sewing machine would be purely decorative. But, we would get a good laugh if someone
remarked that they didn’t know I sewed.
All that being said, I
have to admit I actually did something really, really crafty one year. I’d been
out shopping at a mall, and fell in love with those huge, bushy garlands,
dripping with ornaments. I went everywhere in a quest to buy one for my
banister. Sadly, I had no luck.
Well, I’ll just make one
myself, I thought.
That should have been my
first clue – that I was thinking about crafting anything - ever. But, once I
get an idea, it’s pretty much a done deal.
Don’t judge me.
I realized that I was
going to have to buy several artificial garlands and figure out a way to secure
them together. I was determined to imitate the lush decorations that I’d envied
at the mall. After several failed attempts, I knew what I was afraid would be
the case. I needed to use wire; and even sharper wire cutters.
You know, you’d think I’d
have stopped when I had that revelation. Take sharp wire, sharper cutters, then
add me to the mix and you’ve got the recipe for guaranteed disaster. And
unfortunately, this wasn’t going to be any different.
I began the difficult task
of cutting the wire, then wrapping the sharp wire around the garland. The week
after my fingers healed, I set about stringing the lights.
At this point, I should
add that one of the few things I’d never experienced in my life was an
electrical shock. That has now been rectified.
Two weeks, several trips
to the craft store, countless bloody finger pricks and a few glue gun burns
later, I stood back and congratulated myself on a massively bushy garland fit
for any mall. It was time to light her up and gloat.
I probably should have considered
making it closer to the banister, though – all 15 feet of it. I had to call the
girls, a bunch of times. They had pretty much avoided me during this project; it
was probably better that way. I’ve never been one to curse, but that, too, was
rectified during the project.
We began to lug what was
now being called, “The Beast”, to its’ resting place. It took a few hours and
we broke several ornaments, but we finally had The Beast up.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t
half bad. And after we’d vacuumed up the mess all over my living room floor,
the hall, and down the stairs, it actually looked pretty. We were ready to
light it up.
And the cursing began
anew.
I’d thought ahead enough
to check the strings of light to be sure that they were working before I began.
What I didn’t think about was connecting them together. Turns out, there are
“male” and “female” plugs. I’m trying to think of a way to put this delicately,
so let’s just say my poor garland was celibate.
I’m fairly sure my scream
could be heard two towns over. That, and the torrent of curse words that seemed
to flow from my mouth as if a damn had burst. Words I didn’t even know I knew
spewed forth like molten lava, rolling gleefully and with utter abandon from my
mouth.
Aubrie and Elyse were
laughing so hard, tears were streaming down their eyes. Then they realized that
I was looking at them with steam coming out of my ears. They ran faster than
Frosty from a greenhouse.
Yep, I’d proven again that
I was no Martha Stewart.
I stood there glaring at
The Beast. Then, I fumed, fussed, plotted, planned and even cajoled. There was
NO WAY I was taking all those ornaments off that stupid garland to start over. Finally,
a decision was made. I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, grabbed my purse and
went to the store for more lights. I planned to drape them over, under, and
around the decorations, making a chain that would link them all together.
By the time I was done, I
lit that bad boy up – and, boy did it ever LIGHT UP! If I’d known Morse code, I could have signaled
a space invasion from opposite sides of the planet. Fortunately – for the
family – no one said a word about the brief interruption in power, or the fact
that their eyes were burning as surely as if they had been staring at the sun.
They oohed and ahhed, and
told me what a lovely job I’d done (after they’d pilfered through their rooms
to find sunglasses). They didn’t think I’d noticed that they occasionally
glanced nervously at the sky in the event an errant plane thought it had found
its runway.
But it was done, it was
up, and I was finished! I’d had my fill of crafts for Christmas for, well,
ever. My new motto is if I can’t buy it, we don’t need it. And if I want it
badly enough, I can usually whine and annoy someone else to do it for me.
To me, THAT’S a good
thing.
It’s been a few years now,
and I’ve learned a thing or two. Dogs and the beast don’t get along well. As
they bound up the stairs, their tails inevitably break a few ornaments or take
out a string of lights. By the time we take it down, the beast looks like a
Charlie Brown Christmas tree. The next year, we tie it to the banister first
and then replace broken or tattered ornaments. We don’t even bother re-doing
the lights. We just drape new strings on top of the old ones. Once it’s lit,
though, you can barely notice (that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it).
So, if you come to my
house at Christmas time, feel free to admire the Beast. Word of advice,
however; don’t look too closely or allow a body part to come into contact with
it. Electric shocks are not normally part of the Christmas spirit. Let's keep it that way.
Wow! Sounds like your house is my kind of place! -- Damp and rainy in Upland, California
ReplyDeleteI never tire of hearing this story! LOL :) Laughed anew!
ReplyDelete