The hardest thing about writing a blog is thinking of things to write about. I spend my days hanging out with two toddlers and sometimes have little to no contact with other adults. My brain is overflowing with things that I end up babbling out to my husband at the end of the day or to the grocery check out lady or the cutie barrista (are they still barristas if they are boys? Does wanting to call them barristos make me old fashioned?). But people don’t really want to read my brain fizz. So coming up with things to write about that other people will be interested in reading is really the thing. ‘Cause lets face it if I didn’t want other people to read what I am blogging about I would just write it in the princess diary I keep under the mattress. When a thought strikes me that I think I might have more to say about or might be fun to play around with or just seems important to remember I write it down on something handy…usually paper but denim scraps work too.
So I haven’t written in a long time. Mostly I keep thinking no one is going to be interested in the things I think up to write about. Yes, self sabotage she is a sneaky beast.
Sometimes the act of typing something out brings on more thoughts…sometimes just delirious weirdness followed by head banging and chocolate binging.
So I thought I would gather up all the random notes I’ve left myself type some of them out and see what happens.
This is the first one I came across.
(Actual wording of my notes in red… it was really hard not to edit)
The goofy mistakes are the things that say I made this not anyone else
Have you ever noticed how things that are hand made have a quality that is different than things that are machine made or mass produced? Even when the hand made thing is done so well that the hand of the maker is invisible. There is something subtly different and fundamentally comforting to me about things that are made by hand (This does not in anyway interfere with my love affair with plastic storage boxes). With most things that are made by hand (yes especially the things I make) the hand of the artist is not invisible and I think that makes them all the more lovable. It makes them seem more real to me. Slightly uneven stitching or brush strokes in paint say a real person was here and put something of themselves in what you are wearing or looking at. I have nothing against factory made things or the people who put their sweat into factory made things. Their job is important and without them many people would not have the things that they need. But they are part of a human machine that has nothing of the individual in it. I wear lots of factory made clothes and have lots of factory made things in my house but the things that I truly love and feel like express who I am have some sign of the hand that made them. Yes I love the functional sameness and easy organization of clear plastic boxes but those are not the things I am looking for in a hat or a bag or a painting. I think that the things that I wear and display in my home are kind of a visual description of those things about me that I love the most. The plastic boxes I keep in the closet.