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The blank page, silently waits, offering no encouragement, no suggestions; it will not begin the conversation. Scarily intimidating – especially for the young writer, who has not yet learned to trust themselves to say anything worth-while – the blank page is not friendly.
As I prepared to teach Beginning Poetry Workshop at our homeschool co-op, I reminded myself of what it felt like to be there – to be a tween or teen and have expectations thrust upon you in the way of a blank page and an assignment; what it felt like to be shown brilliant masterpieces sculpted by literary gods and goddesses, and then asked to approximate their genius; the desperation felt when I looked into my tool box and found the equivalent of a simple ruler and a small hammer, which were adequate enough for spelling sentences and history reports, but were hardly up to the task of something like POETRY! Where even to begin?
Thirteen students had signed up for my class. I knew a couple of them outside of school before the class begin, but I knew nothing about any of them as writers. And yet, writers they already were. I knew from my experience teaching English in public high school (9 years ago now!) that they would all come to the class with different skills, wide ranges of ability, and oscillating levels of confidence.
We needed to start writing right away.
First though, I needed them to think about poetry. What it is; what it’s not; what it’s about; what it looks like; what it sounds like; what it says or doesn’t say; what’s great about it; what’s hard about it? Though on the first day of class it was a bit difficult to get them talking, we brainstormed and came up with a list of their answers – constructing our definition of POETRY.
I needed to play a bit with this definition.
We began with Lord Alfred Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott” – a beautiful poem, and one which I assumed would confirm many of their ideas about poetry – for better or for worse. It has meter, it has rhyme, it has a romanticized setting. Yes, they confirmed; this was poetry! As I read it aloud, my voice rising and falling with the iambic quatrameter, I could feel some of them slipping away.
I needed to wake them up! What better way than to sing them awake with Walt Whitman’s “I Hear America Singing” – the mechanic, the carpenter, the mason, the boatman, the shoemaker, the mother – all singing in Whitman’s strong verbed, noun-forward, long lined style, but without rhyme, without meter, without fantastical romance – but most definitely with something to say! Was this poetry? Yes, they said; this was also poetry – lofty of subject and tone! But could you write a poem about that stain on the couch? … a dog-eared book? … socks?
Pablo Neruda did in his “Ode to My Socks.” This lanky poem sings the praises of hand-knitted, transmogrifying, other-worldly socks! Is this poetry? Again, yes – even though Neruda is writing about socks, the way he writes about them – the metaphors – makes it poetry. And it looks like a poem and sort of sounds like a poem, so … it must be a poem?
But what if it doesn’t sound like a poem? What if it doesn’t seem to be saying anything more than, “I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast. Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold.” When William Carlos Williams, doctor by trade, poet in spirit, first published and read “This is Just to Say,” people asked him, “Is this a poem?” Can something so simple be poetry? He said, why not? Why can’t poetry encompass simple, homely, ordinary things? And if you think about it, the poem does say a lot more than is written – as poetry is wont to do. This poem challenged a lot of preconceived ideas about what a poem could or should be.
And then I introduced my class to e.e. cummings! The poem I shared with them was this:
Four words – loneliness (a leaf falls) or (a leaf falls) loneliness. However, written out plainly, these four words lose all movement; the words cease to create the full image. Was this crazy code poetry? If this was poetry, then what couldn’t be?
And that was exactly the question I wanted them to ask.
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The bug is biting me again. This need to write; to commit experiences and thoughts to words. The funny thing about me not writing much lately – ahem, for the past few years! – is that, at least lately, I’ve been dedicating a lot of thought to it – to writing. Most of my thinking has been directed towards how to teach writing – how best to add tools and skills to my students’ writing tool-belts. That it hasn’t translated into me writing more is a problem … I have not been walking my talk.
Mid-February may be too late for New Year’s resolutions, but I suppose it’s never too late to move from inaction to action. And so I’m here putting my writing shoes on.
I tell the students in my Beginning Poetry Workshop that writers write. Someone who writes, who wants to write, will and does write – and often. People who want to run a marathon, don’t just pick up running shoes one day, step out the door, and run 26+ miles. When Pheidippides attempted to do just that – running from the battlefield of Marathon to Athens to announce the Greek’s victory over the Persians – he died.
While I, who am in no way a runner, personally believe that his death is the moral of the story (i.e. don’t run 26+ miles in a row), I am glad that no such fate awaits those of us who neglect to pick up the pen (or keyboard as the case maybe). There may be individuals out there who could, having never written much of anything before, pick up a pen and compose an outstanding poem or story. Most people – by which I mean I – need to train by exercising my writing muscles much more often. Which is exactly what I’ve been telling my students … and then not doing myself.
In some ways writing is like any skill; once it’s learned, one doesn’t forget how to do it. However, when a skill is not used regularly, it becomes increasingly difficult to do it well! The litmus test for me this time was not a marathon of writing, but the (seemingly) simple and short haiku. While I have successfully composed some poetry, along with my students, from week to week, attempting to write haiku has proved beyond my current ability.
Part of the difficulty is that in preparing the lessons on haiku for the class, I’ve discovered the beautiful complexity that is the haiku tradition and structure. Gone for me is the simple 17-syllable poem about nature. In its place is a still-short, but not necessarily 17-syllable, two-image separated with a “cutting-word,” season inspired, non-telling, simply-showing, lightness-imbued study of a moment.
What haiku is requiring of me is a facility with words that is currently out of reach for my flabby, inflexible writing muscles. I need just the right word to capture the motion of the river and another to show the contrast with the so-still stone in the current. And while I can do it (sort of) with unlimited space and syllables, trying to do it in 17-ish makes my brain feel like it’s attempting a full back-bend, when recently I’ve barely been taxing it with touching its toes.
So here I am. And I hope I will be here much more often.
For inspiration, I’ll leave off with some of Basho’s haiku that has inspired and challenged me:
hoping the flowers burst
out in laughter
a wine up
of “mountain-path mums”
drink it up
from a treetop
emptiness dropped down
in a cicada shell
and fittingly …
sadly spring winds cannot open
a poem bag
Here are some great websites that have opened up the wonders of haiku. Be warned … for better or for worse, haiku will never be the same again; for me, it has been made impossibly wonderful!
In the Moonlight a Worm
Haiku Writing: A Lesson for Beginners (the background is terrible, but the content is good!)
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* trying to get used to our new school schedule, which now includes a much longer day at our Monday School Co-op, accommodating homework from the classes taken there, including the work of the class I am teaching there this year (more about this in a moment), driving a little miss to Kindergarten the other four days a week, and then figuring out how to fit her phonics and math instruction into the afternoon.
* being inspired by the new poets blooming in my 4th hour classroom Monday afternoons – my mind often distracted by new ways to help them become purposeful writers. Though first a hope they can make some wonderful nonsense!
* fighting a hard battle against the temptation to judge others and their choices – sometimes winning for a moment, only to be pulled under the murky waters of the fantastic imaginings of my ego.
* wondering what I am going to do with the big bowl of blackberries in the fridge. Should I make these scones again – they were yummy – or try something new. Goodness knows we have enough!
* attempting to not look and sound like a total idiot when Lizzie and Jacob ask me questions about their Latin homework. Guess I had better start doing their homework with them if I hope to succeed.
* praying that God will give me the strength and wisdom to be able to manage new responsibilities, and the humility to know when to ask for help before I crumble under the weight of things.
* (not so) secretly glad that I am finally here writing something even though at the beginning of the year writing was supposedly something I was going to make time to do each week.
* hoping that being here now means I may be back again soon and with pictures from this summer too!
* searching for a good time to take the family out to Jones Creek Farm to pick some crispy, sweet apples for homemade apple butter, applesauce, and apple pie.
* ignoring the mountain of dirty laundry in my closet in the vain hope that by doing so it will just go away or clean itself or be attended to by someone other than me, even though it never has before.
* looking forward to a hot mocha drunk at the dining room table with a kindergartener who will be reading very soon – such an exciting prospect!
* thankful to be back here and hoping to be here more often … maybe with a card project (even have one sketched out!)
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- the quality or state of being warm in temperature
- the quality or state of being warm in feeling <a child needing human warmth and family life>
- a glowing effect produced by the use of warm colors
The word “warmth”, unlike the word “hot” or “tepid” or even “warm”, conveys so much more than temperature. Warmth speaks to us of comfort and refuge, full tummies and full hearts, things handmade and the hands that make them. Warmth speaks of home, especially in these winter months when sunlight is scarce and the weather makes our homes that much more necessary and we are grateful for having them and their comforts.
Last week, we had the joy of welcoming my youngest sister Sally and her son Ethan (8 months) into our home. They were escaping the 80degree “winter” days of Southern California in the hopes of finding some real winter up here in Seattle. We were even prepared to drive to it if winter weather didn’t come to us. But nature provided and answered the prayers of my season-deprived sister by bringing her and us our first snow of the season – and Ethan’s first snow EVER.
It wasn’t much (compared to the 18 feet that fell in parts of Alaska that week), but 7 inches here was enough to close pretty much everything and prevent us from doing much more than playing outside, warming back up, snuggling, playing in the snow some more, and then cuddling together with noses in hot cocoa & good books and sleepy babies on our chests and hot bubbly sauces on the stove and soft yarn flowing through fingers onto needles and pink-with-cold noses & toes in warm bubbly baths – a full week of warmth!
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By Emily Dickinson 1830–1886
I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –
Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of eye –
And for an everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky –
Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise –
The possibilities of a new year are exciting! They can also be daunting, I suppose. But it is this spirit of possibility that inspire resolutions – promises of how this year will be different, better, more. I am not immune to this spirit, nor would I want to be. I’ve even come up with a little list of goals I’d like to work toward this year; things I’d like to do.
- Take at least one picture a week and write about it.
- Bake more.
- Take more walks.
- Have afternoon tea/reading time with the kids more often.
- Start a family vegetable garden.
- Make a card a week.
- Make myself a new dress for Pascha (or maybe Pentecost)
- Finish that unfinished quilt in my sewing room!
- Knit a pair of socks.
- Finally shred the numerous bags of junk mail in the garage.
- Make and keep to a budget.
For that – even to begin to think of dwelling in Possibility – I must abandon that which limits me. Too often I limit what may be – for me, my marriage, my children, my friends, my work – with excuses: that’s just how I am, what I know, how I was raised, what I’ve always done, how it’s always been. But, as I was reminded in Confession recently, only God knows who I truly am; who I can fully be; the Possible me.
The only true resolution I can make then is to attempt daily, hourly, moment to moment to dwell in Possibility – to gaze through the numerous Windows offered to me; to walk through Doors, superior of opportunity; to find refuge within the impregnable and everlasting House that his His church; to welcome all fair Visitors as guests sent to teach me; to have all this as my Occupation; to dwell in His Possibility. Maybe then I can begin to crawl my way toward that better me; not a skinnier, more in-shape, more organized, better rested, richer me. But the someone who God means for me to be … I don’t even know who that is.
Daunting. Intimidating. Terrifying. Because I know I will fail; again and again, I will fall on my face. And I will have to get up and try again. I will speak when I should be quiet; I will be quiet when I should speak; I will be hard when I should be soft; I will allow myself to become anxious and preoccupied and lost in the details. It would be so much easier to stick to my little list of prosaic goals and hide behind the walls of what I’ve always been.
However, Possibility, as Emily describes it (forgive me, she will always be Emily to me; not Miss Dickinson or E. Dickinson, or Aunt Emily, but a fellow Emily), is not a terrifying place to dwell. Her tone is joyful, expectant, triumphant. To dwell there is to wake with anticipation of the day, not with dread; to welcome each task as an opportunity, not a trial; to be grateful for the chance to get up and try again and again, not to be anxious. Possibility is joy – a gift from God; itself a way of seeing and feeling His love for us. For with Him all things are Possible.
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I know I’m a week late with this, but I actually have some great pictures for this and something to write about – I even have a couple poems! The only excuse I have for being a week late on this one is that our whole family has been hit hard by a cold this week and it was really all I could do just to get through school each day. Luckily today is a short day and so here I am … finally.
Let’s start with the poems, shall we? I found these very different reflections on “Joy” while looking for something to add to Poetry Wednesday and accompany my “the way I see it” photos. They just happen to fit into what I was going to say about how I, or rather my children – specifically Josie – experience joy.
"I have no name:
I am but two days old."
What shall I call thee?
"I happy am,
Joy is my name."
Sweet joy befall thee!
Sweet joy but two days old,
Sweet joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while,
Sweet joy befall thee!
By Claude McKay
There is joy in the woods just now,
The leaves are whispers of song,
And the birds make mirth on the bough
And music the whole day long,
And God! to dwell in the town
In these springlike summer days,
On my brow an unfading frown
And hate in my heart always—
A machine out of gear, aye, tired,
Yet forced to go on—for I’m hired.
Just forced to go on through fear,
For every day I must eat
And find ugly clothes to wear,
And bad shoes to hurt my feet
And a shelter for work-drugged sleep!
A mere drudge! but what can one do?
A man that’s a man cannot weep!
Suicide? A quitter? Oh, no!
But a slave should never grow tired,
Whom the masters have kindly hired.
But oh! for the woods, the flowers
Of natural, sweet perfume,
The heartening, summer showers
And the smiling shrubs in bloom,
Dust-free, dew-tinted at morn,
The fresh and life-giving air,
The billowing waves of corn
And the birds’ notes rich and clear:—
For a man-machine toil-tired
May crave beauty too—though he’s hired.
Joy seems to be one of those things that is easily adulterated. We all begin as in Blake’s poem above – Joy is [our] name! However, we learn, as we age, not to fly to high on the wings of joy for fear of crashing. And so we moderate our joy, temper it with a healthy dose of reality, and so it loses its wonder – its purity – until it becomes something almost foreign and out of reach as it is for the speaker of McKay’s poem – who “may crave beauty too.”
However, I find that I don’t have to look far to find joy; I see it nearly every day in my children, especially my youngest two girls, who have yet to learn to pace themselves, and do not fear to soar high on the mighty thermals of joy. Their joy has not been adulterated; or rather, it has not yet been adult-ed – a much better word for their youthful freedom.
This summer was Josie’s summer. You know that summer – when a child suddenly comes into her own and she find that the world is hers for now.
- This summer Josie learned to swim. Not “learned to swim” in that she was able to survive or even like swim lessons, but rather that she conquered the world of water – she moved within it and it no longer had power over her. When she swam, she would, with evident joy in her independence, move in the water like she belonged in it – floating, diving, twisting, fishing around.
- This summer Josie learned to swing on her own – pumping her legs in and out, pulling herself toward the sky, back and forth. Free from hard palms in her back, her toes brushing the branches of the trees on the back slope – look mom!! Joy – unadult-ed, full and large!
- This is the summer that Josie began preschool, ventured outside her home and away from mother’s embrace toward new friends and adventure and fun. She’s thriving, loving it, wanting to go every day.
And what better way to see joy –
JOY at the State Fair!! A wonderland for anyone under 10; a challenging, if fun, day for the adults.
Once a year?
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Molly, I agree with you! I read your post today and thought, My goodness, I don’t have to write a single thing this week because Molly’s said all that needs to be said about a mother’s work.
And just like you, Molly, I set out this week feeling quite confident that through my pictures, I could capture all that I do and that these pictures would somehow show – be evidence of – my work.
But really, my “to-do” list is just a list of tasks. Granted, they need to be done – the laundry must be washed, the bathrooms cleaned, the children schooled, the meals fixed, the baths administered … the jobs crossed off the list – DONE! This is the way our house continues to function. However, functionality is not truly work; it does not, in itself, bear fruit – it is a mechanical term. A cabinet that opens and closes and holds goods is functional; a car that is able to bear us from place to place is functional; a house that is relatively clean, whose inhabitants are relatively clean, well fed, and clothed is functional. But tomorrow the tasks must be DONE again – the laundry must be washed again, the meals prepared again, the house cleaned again.
True work produces; it bears fruit; its result is growth; its wages are priceless. One would never describe an apple tree that bears sweet fruit as “functional.” It’s work, as an apple tree, is to bear fruit – to grow each year and continue to bring forth fruit to nourish and delight an eager mouth and, more importantly, its Creator. So I too am called upon not merely to be functional (which is hard enough), but to bear sweet fruit. This is truly work!
Unfortunately, my fruit so very often is bitter and worm-ridden, rotting on the branch, poisoned by pride, narcissism, criticality, harshness, and anxiety. My work then is not so much the tasks on my to-do list, but the diligence of a loving nurturer who strives always to build up, encourage, strengthen, respect, reverence, appreciate – grow.
This work is, I find, impossible to do on my own. When I lose my temper and am sarcastic instead of temperate, it is Christ’s gentle hand on my shoulder that humbles me and directs my steps toward the offended who is in need of an apology. When my hand is a little too hard, the most Holy Theotokos’s tender embrace of her Son and my God shows me that softness is truly great strength. When whining and complaining drive me to tears of prideful frustration, St. Emmelia (mother to ten, five of whom are Saints) stands before me as a model of forbearance and bearer of great fruit pleasing to God.
Last winter, as I lamented my empty days without all my children, I thought that homeschooling again, while being beneficial to all, would also provide structure to my day – structure and schedule and to-dos that would provide functionality. But I’m finding that the true work I’m doing (and that which I believe I truly hungered for last year) is not the jobs that make us function, but the work that produces – that bears fruit.
So I guess I did have something to write about after all. And these photos are pictures of my tasks and my work as a mother and wife and child:
Try as I might, I still can’t find anything redeeming about laundry; it just must be done and done … and done again.
I am thankful. So very thankful for the opportunity to do this work that God has placed in my hands. May we all be blessed with work that allows us the opportunity to bear fruit pleasing to God.
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Thanks to Molly Sabourin and her wonderful blog Close to Home, I’m beginning (along with Molly and her other readers) a new photography project called “The Way I See It”. This week’s “assignment” was HOME. My goodness! This could be so many things many of which I’ve documented before in my 365 Project, which ended last year. But this year we’re all one year older – luckily this shows up more definitely in my children – and we’re in a very different place:
Last year we were preparing to head back to public school after two years of home schooling; this year we’ve just finished our first week of another year of school at home. Last year I was just beginning a pretty rigorous weight lifting regime; this year, after a shoulder injury and a week in Hawaii, I find that I have very little motivation (for better or for worse) to spend my little free time at the gym or in the garage with cold iron plates. Last year, my baby was still babyish – not yet two years old; this year she’s almost three and most definitely not a baby anymore – “I’m little big, mama,” she corrects me when I make the mistake of calling her a little girl. Last year I was wondering what in the world I was going to do with all my free time while the big kids were at school; this year, having found that lots of “free time” quickly becomes empty and wasted time, I find my days full of children and needs and wants and pulls one way and another, but the days are FULL and beautiful (if a little more draining). Last year I was preparing for two craft fairs and making cards – lots and lots of cards – until I could hardly face walking into my craft room; this year I’ve decided not to take on that craziness again, and am loving the moments I can steal away into my room to make a quick card for someone special or just for fun.
But many things are the same … and these are comfortable and lovely and are the backbone of what make our home. Here are some photos that show what is the same and what is different in our home now:
We’ve done away with desks and homeschool “classrooms” and now we have our homeschool library and bins and class is held on the couch and work is done together at the table. I participate rather than impart; I am a mother who is teaching, rather than a teacher who mothers.
When I can, this is my favorite reading place … in the shade of my beautiful hydrangeas, legs curled up on my chair, cup of something good on the table and one of the many books I have started in my hand. This is also my favorite place to eat breakfast with my husband on Saturday morning – where we can talk and be separate from the offspring for a few quiet stolen moments.
And always, always, always things to pick up and put away and straighten up and launder. But how empty would my home be without the little ones’ little things to round out the edges and fill in the spaces?
Recently, our parish welcomed a new priest and his family into our mission congregation. It has been lovely to get to know them and to celebrate the purchase of their new home. For the occasion, I made a card (of course) and it too speaks of “home” to me.
For inspiration, I drew upon this week’s Color Throwdown challenge #157:
And this week’s Mojo Monday Sketch #206:
And here is my card:
The punched clouds idea came from an incredibly talented stamper, Heather Klump. And of course I had to break out the old SAB Good Neighbors set and a couple other retired sets as well – it felt good to dust them off.
Thanks for looking here and I look forward to sharing my photography and more cards with you soon. Have a wonderful holiday weekend!
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A while back there was a commercial on TV – I think it was advertising either a weight-loss or an exercise program – in which a rather buff looking guy yelled at the viewer – You Can DO It!! It was a bit scary actually, but you couldn’t deny his enthusiasm. While I hoped to be not quite as intimidating as that commercial, I recently wanted to send some encouragement to a loved-one who was feeling a bit down and was having a hard time finding the desire to push onward. So instead of screaming in his face, I made him this card (which just happened to use the colors from this week’s Inkspirations Colour Challenge #84 – a bright and inspiring color pallette! – and this week’s Create with Connie and Mary Sketch Challenge #164; hey, I need to get my inspiration somewhere – ).
Here’s what I used:
Cardstock: Daffodil Delight, Whisper White, Wisteria Wonder, Concord Crush, Tangerine Tango
Ink: Concord Crust, Wisteria Wonder, Tangerine Tango, Daffodil Delight
Stamps: Word Play
Accessories: Decorative Label punch, Dotted Scallop Ribbon Border punch, Bird Builder punch, 1/16” Circle Punch, fire brads (retired), Stamp-a-majig, needle and thread, sponges, 5/8” Whisper White Grosgrain Ribbon
I hope this helped to lift him out of his funk and set his sights on new goals! And I hope it didn’t scare or intimidate him like the guy in the commercial, though I did want to let him know … You Can DOOOOO IT!!!
Thanks for looking and happy stamping.
p.s. Hopefully I will have the time and energy to post about this first week of our homeschool soon … but right now I need to rest!!!
p.p.s. Check out the Honorable Mention for last week’s Inkspiration Challenge #83 … hint, it’s me !
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Yesterday I sketched one last sketch. It came to me as I was falling asleep the night before and I remembered it when I woke up. So before I even put on my robe (though I think I did visit the loo first), I jotted it down. I wasn’t able to get out to the craft room until after the kids were in bed and the hubby was doing his workout. By then the color palette had changed to something a little brighter (actually inspired by a diner interior I saw on TV). The layout is from this week’s Card Positioning Systems sketch #232:
This sketch came out last weekend, but I couldn’t think of what to do or which stamps to use until the idea popped into my head as I was falling asleep.
Here’s my take on the sketch:
I love the toppling tea cup thing, but the fun idea was having them stack off the panel. I toyed with the idea of having them be falling over (and I still may do that, so don’t steal it!), but this card really required the cleaner lines.
Here’s what I used:
Cardstock: Pool Party, Island Indigo, Pumpkin Pie, Whisper White
Ink: Pool Party, Basic Black, Island Indigo, Pumpkin Pie, Tangerine Tango
Stamps: Morning Cup
Accessories: Blender Pen, Sponges, Stamp-a-majig, Stampin’ Dimensionals, Paper Piercer and Mat Pack, 1/4” Whisper White Grosgrain Ribbon, Modern Label Punch, Big Shot, Backgrounds 1 Small Dots Texturz Plate
The Texturz Plates do not emboss as deeply as the Impressions Folders and so to help the polkadot stand out a bit more, I gently sponged Pool Party over the entire back panel – sweeping gently up (barely touching the cardstock) from the bottom toward the top – so that the dots have a slight shadow on the underside.
Also, to help the tea cup tower stand out a bit from the white background, I used the Blender Pen to pick up a very little of the Pool Party ink from the top of the Classic Stampin’ Pad (if you squeeze the closed pad, it will leave some ink on the lid, which you can then pick up with your blender pen or AquaPainter for your coloring projects) and lightly outlined the entire tower, giving it a slight shadow; the result is that the tea cups seem to stand out from the background, giving the panel some depth.
I meant to take a picture of the craziness that was my dining room table this morning, but the urge to make things less crazy won out and I cleaned up before I broke out the camera. The reason there was craziness at all was that yesterday I printed out the schedules and began detailing our lessons for the first few weeks of school. Binders and books and paper and schedules were everywhere! But by the end of the day, the next couple of weeks weren’t so intimidating, which is a good thing. There’s still a few things left to do – including figuring out what I am going to be doing with my preschooler four days a week – but it’s getting done.
What that also means is that my brain is beginning to fill with things other than stamping and for the first day in awhile I don’t have a sketch lurking in the back of my brain. Instead I’m thinking of what science project we’re going to start first and whether the kids should hand stitch their handkerchiefs or machine sew them and realizing that I will probably have to buy fabric for Jaocb’s field bag but am glad that I found some old denim to use for Lizzie’s and wondering when I’m going to find time to sew those this week and hoping that my pantry will be finished (enough) by tomorrow that I can start organizing it this weekend rather than have that craziness move into our first week of school …
So you see, there isn’t much room for sketches and color challenges right now. Perhaps this evening when I’ve had a glass of wine and things are a little more settled something will appear, but if it doesn’t tonight, I’m sure it will eventually and then I’ll have to find some time, even if it’s after the kids are in bed, to crawl out to the craft room and make another card to share with you.
Until then, thanks for looking and happy stamping to you!