Well goodness. Three years have gone by and it doesn’t feel a year over two. Life often has a way of getting away from you under normal circumstances. Throw in a graduation, a pandemic and a new grandbaby and you’re lucky to remember your own name. It’s Emery… oh, but wait… that’s a Pseudonym. Agh, it’s so confusing.

During this time, you do what you can to stay sane. Hopefully, you can stay on target with things that were already going on, such as your writing career. As many people know, though, when you get inundated, something’s got to give. For me, my writing time took a hit. Truly, that’s just an excuse. I could have made the time. But during the aforementioned three years, I took a new hobby. Or twelve. I suppose they could all fall under the heading of crafting–so really only one hobby 12 times over. No seriously, I’m not kidding.

If you like to craft like me, you know that there really isn’t a craft you won’t try. Because why not, right? Especially if you haven’t done it in a long–LONG–while. Let me backtrack a sec, I have been a crafter for as long as I can remember–spurred on by my mother’s crafts. She did the typical 70s macrame and paint by numbers landscapes (those hung in my grandparents living room for thirty years–no lie). There were the odd costuming for school plays and just the regular old sewing for clothes to wear. She worked that machine.

I followed suit, I sewed from teenage on. I did all sorts of wreath making, wood painting and iron-on activities. Then I got married and had kids. The crafts turned to their wants and needs. I made all my sons’s Christmas stockings, and cute little Easter outfits. My iron got a workout like never before–you ever see those little beads you place into a picture and melt together, yeah that one. Oh, and I never want to see moon sand or play dough again, just saying. And then the drought hit. I was crafted out. I put up my sewing kit, to the point I forgot I even had it. Yards upon yards of fabric disappeared into plastic containers and up in closets.

Cut to 2019. I walk into a craft store for no other reason than I wanted to (I didn’t have to buy pipe cleaners or foam balls for a kiddo’s solar system model). My heart and olfactory system soared–there is a very distinctive aroma of the multitude of crafts under one roof that speaks to, and can often overwhelm, the crafters’ nervous system. You itch to get your hands on it. It being EVERYTHING in the store.

For me, it was a reminiscent journey. I’d forgotten how many different crafts I’d done over the years. Aisle after aisle, I looked and said, yep, I’ve done that. And my shopping cart filled to the brim–three times over. And to my creative soul, I was ecstatic to see new crafts had come into existence during my absence. Sublimation anyone!?! HTV! Vinyl! I was addicted instantly and spent the intervening years quite literally knee-deep in the world of DIY.

When 2020 went sideways, my sewing machine came out of hiding and I sewed up masks for my family and friends. The feel of the fabric running through the feet of the machine sparked memories of sewing with my mother and reignited the homey feeling that had long since abandoned me. I was warmed to have it back, especially since I didn’t even realize it was gone.

My cute little office went from a desk (and TV that is on more than it should be)–where I didn’t write–to my crafting cave. I have recent cut the glue and glitter to a mere shimmer and I am itching to get back into writing. But I still want to craft. It doesn’t have to be one or the other. Surely there is a balance to be sought and accomplished. However time management isn’t my strongest asset. But that is a tale for another post.