I have been taking a course on creativity. Little did I expect that this course would inspire me back into the world of blogging. I think that it is time. I have missed this place... not blogger per se, I have missed the deep place in my heart that longs to write. As Virginia Woolf once wrote, "Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works."
Entry #1: Saturday, May 31, 2014
Today
I attended my first class to get my gifted endorsement. I couldn’t
sleep last night as I was so excited. What would the class be like?
Would I learn all the things swirling around in my mind before I have
to teach gifted classes next year? Who would I meet? What assignments
would we be asked to complete?
About
midway through the class we were asked to write down some ideas on a
piece of paper. What is something that we have always wanted to do but
haven’t taken the time to do it? I jotted a few things down in my
notes: learn to play the guitar, write my dissertation (YIKES!), build a
piece of furniture, write a children’s story… There are so many things
that I would like to do one day when I have the time and the money!
At
the conclusion of our class, the instructor told us that the class
would end in a Creativity Project. We were asked to pick a creative
endeavor and then complete it over the next few weeks. We would present
our final projects on the last day of class. We were also asked to
create a journal about our process.
So… here it is. My journal. My creative thoughts during a creative process.
Entry #2: Sunday, June 1, 2014
“The Husband Discussion”
After
my class yesterday, I told James over dinner that I needed to do
something creative. “I think that I want to build a bed!” I said
boldly over quesadillas. “A BED?” James stared at me. It is not
uncommon for me to throw out strange ideas over dinner. Most husbands
might ask how one is going to build a bed, what kind of bed, do I have
the tools needed, etc. Instead, James just said, “Can you please just
do me one favor first?” I waited. There was no telling what he might
ask me to do first. Clean out the garage before bringing in the wood?
Make sure he liked the style of the bed before I built?
“Can
you please finish painting the office before starting a new project?”
He said gently. Disappointment suddenly washed over me. Finish
painting the office? That project was so summer of 2013 and not at all
interesting to me anymore. I had chosen a dark navy for my office. I
had a huge vision in my mind. Dark navy with all the boys artwork in
white frames. It was going to be gorgeous… and I had promised James
that once was office was complete, I would finally be in a good frame of
mind to write my PhD dissertation. I had painted all the walls, all
the trim, and the office was in pretty good shape except for the window
frames. The inside of the windows still resonated with the odd green
color chosen by the previous owners. Oh, James! They were just the insides
of a window. The details. This conversation shows the normal conundrum facing
our marriage. I have dreams. Big Dreams. New Dreams… but I never seem
to be able to finish the details of the dreams I already started.
Entry #3: Monday, June 2, 2014
I
walked into the office this afternoon hoping that inspiration would
consume me to finish painting the insides of the window sills. The only
problem I had was actually reaching the windows. I couldn't reach the windows to paint because the office was filled with books. Books gently placed on the floor in front of all the windows. My mom had been in
town a few weeks ago. Her minivan had been filled with books. Special
books. My dad’s books.
My
dad died last August after a four year fight against cancer of the
bone marrow. I wish that I could write a blog right now about my
feelings of grief. But I am not quite ready. A blog feels so unworthy
of the emotions and feelings I have toward my dad. Words seem trite -
unable to fully grasp the emotion, the love, and the loss. So, instead I
will talk about his books. My dad loved books. Every single night
while growing up, my dad would excuse himself early to his bedroom. He
would sit up on his bed and read. He would read fiction, non-fiction,
law books, religious books, current events, and anything else that
intrigued him at the moment. He would sit with a pen and a ruler. My
dad would underline. He would underline his books. Using a small ruler
and his pen, my dad would make perfect lines under anything that he
deemed important.
I
asked my mom for his books. Besides my dad’s nose, I inherited his
love for books. I wanted his books because I want to read every single
underlined note he ever took. I want to read all the things that he
thought were important enough to underline. I want to know more about
his brain. His loves. His thoughts. I want to be able to talk to him
again, and I have this wonderful dream that his underlines will speak to
me through his books.
As
we unloaded a minivan full of books, my mom told me a story about dad’s
last week of life. Shortly before moving into the Hospice House, my
dad asked my mom to walk him into his office. He stood there quietly.
His still tall (but now cancer stricken frame) held on to my mom for
support as he raised his arm. With a raised arm, he walked
around his office and let his hand run across the spines of his books.
It was as if he were saying goodbye to some of his dearest friends -
his books.
And
now, as I looked around my own office (the windows sills still filled
with green paint), I saw all the books piled on the floor in front of
the windows. Where should I put these treasures? I wondered. They
need a beautiful place. A beautiful home. For these books are
beautiful to me.
And suddenly I knew, I would no longer be building a bed. I would be building a bookcase.
Entry #4: Tuesday, June 5, 2014
I called my mom on my way home from work today. “Mom, can you help me build a bookcase?”
And
that is how the adventure began. A building adventure with my mom.
For as much as I love and miss my dad, I admire my mom. While my mom
feels that she is slowing down with age; I have grown up knowing that if
I needed wood floors, a kitchen remodel, or the best babysitter for my
kids, I just need to call my mom.
We set a date when she could come to town, and I set about dreaming. I had a plan, but now I needed inspiration!
Entry #5: Friday, June 8, 2014
Inspiration…
Inspiration can come from a variety of sources. A beautiful
masterpiece found in a new art exhibit. The wings of a butterfly when
it lands on a nearby leaf. A week at the mountains in a rustic cabin.
Or if you are like me… inspiration comes from pinterest!
It
was my “illumination.” I had my “aha” moment. I needed those
bookshelves. They were almost as beautiful as my dad’s books.
Entry #6: Friday, June 20, 2014
Tonight
my mom arrived. I will attend class tomorrow for my gifted endorsement
and we have one week to build my bookshelves. I am optimistic! Mom
seems a little more quiet about our time line. We walked into my office
tonight. Mom hesitated. “Would you like to build a window seat?” She
asked. “If you want, we could buy some cheap bookcases and dress them
up with molding. I have done that several times.”
And
then I made my confession. “My instructor said it couldn’t be a
pre-made bookcase that I just put together, mom. I told him I was going
to do this from scratch… And by the way, I have an inspiration
picture.”
I
pulled out my phone and found the pin. In my excitement I held out the
phone in front of her. “We can do this mom! You can teach me how to
build!”
She
hesitated, “I have never actually built a bookcase from scratch before,
Emily…” and I could tell she would be up late thinking. I, however,
went to bed full of excitement and expectation. My mom knows how to do
everything after all…
Entry #7: Saturday, June 21, 2014
I
went back to class today. The sweet lady next to me asked what I
was doing for my creativity project. “I am building a bookcase!” I
said with my eternal optimism. “My mom is going to teach me how!”
When
I got home, we got to work measuring walls and realized that one side
of the doorway measures 49 ⅛ inches while the other side of the doorway
stands at 50 ⅛ inch. Perhaps this project is not going to be quite so simple
after all.
We
made a list of all the supplies we would need… including a bigger car
for hauling our wood. A simple phone call to my husband went something
like this… “Do you want to meet up at the mall after work for dinner?”
and “By the way, we need to borrow your car while you take care of the
kids so we can buy wood at Home Depot…” which James may or may not have
heard since I hung up after he said yes to dinner.
This
is how we ended up at Home Depot until closing on a Saturday night with
a potty training three year old (I may or may not have spent more time
in the bathroom than the wood aisle), my mom, my husband (who kept
coming up with odd and ends he found on the clearance table) and an
eight year old who would have rather been playing Minecraft.
We did not come home with any wood.
And
I might or might not have spent the next three hours online trying to
find a white pre-made bookshelf that measured 49 ⅛ inches on one side
and 50 ⅛ inches on the other.
Entry #8: Sunday, June 22, 2014
We
left the boys at home! After comparing prices at Lowe’s, we made our
way back to Home Depot for wood. “I have a $200 budget,” I told my mom
as we walked up the aisle. “How did you get that number?” Mom asked.
I stopped in my tracks. “I just think that’s how much this project should
be worth.” I replied, while realizing that I had absolutely no idea if
my budget was practical for home made built ins. More details. Two
hundred dollars just seemed like a nice reasonable price, and I knew we
had an extra $200 in our checking this month.
I
am very pleased to say that we left Home Depot with a grand total of
$213 (and since we accidentally bought an extra piece of wood, $200 was
the exact price for built ins). If you ever need budget help, please
just call. I apparently have a knack for going with my gut and pulling
numbers out of thin air.
And
thus began my afternoon of learning to build a bookshelf. I spent the
energy I would normally spend for writing in hauling wood, measuring,
re-measuring, cutting, and nailing. After hours of building, mom and I
finally carried the bookshelves into the master bedroom and placed them
against the walls (49 ⅛ and 50 ⅛ respectively). When they fit perfectly
we squealed with delight, and when we placed mom’s level up on the
shelf and that little tiny bubble was exactly in the center of the
level… we looked at each other and said, “How in the world did that
happen?”
We did it! We built bookshelves from scratch. Tomorrow we will add the moldings!
Entry #9: Monday, June 23, 2014
Here
is a trick I learned from my mom. If you want the built in look, you
can buy an inexpensive bookshelf and add moldings. It will give your
cheap bookshelf an expensive, finished look.
Here
is a trick I taught my mom this week. If you are in a creativity class
where you have to build bookshelves from scratch, you can still add
moldings to give it an expensive, finished look.
Today
I learned how to cut moldings. I hammered them into the new
bookshelves. I also discovered that I am very particular about nails.
I do not like using dirty nails. A nail should be pretty and shiny and
silver. It should not leave junk on your hands. My mom learned that
her daughter might not fully be cut out for carpentry.
Entry #10: Tuesday, June 24, 2014
The
bookshelves are done. They are nailed into the walls, secured from
hopefully ever falling down. The trim is beautiful. The shelves are
filled with all of my favorite things. I have pictures of my boys, a
wedding picture of James and me, a framed note from my very best friend,
and my dad’s books.
I
loved this process. I loved working with my mom. I feel closer to her
today than yesterday. I also feel closer to my dad. He would be so
proud, so happy that the books he loved are still loved by the daughter
who loved him more than anything.
James
walked in our room tonight and said, “Emily, they look beautiful. I
love them.” I am not sure if he is talking about the shelves or the
books. It doesn't really matter; I love them both.
Postlude:
Several days later, James asked me when the bookshelves would be
finished. “Finished?” I said loudly. “What do you mean?” He pointed
to a nail hole on the side. “Emily, you said that after you punched in
the nails you would fill them in with putty and paint them white.” Long
pause… “Oh that.” I mumbled. “That will be done right after I paint
the window sills in my office.”
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