Scrapbooking | BulgingButtons

February 3, 2017
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To Everything There is a Season

Of course those words aren’t mine, but I was reminded of them the other day when I was lamenting my current creativity slump. I was talking to an old friend (not that she’s old, the friendship is, as friendships go) and I told her that I hadn’t done anything creative in a while.

We are long-time quilt buddies. Years ago we met in a local quilting group and we clicked. A small group of us became good friends and took on a few fun projects together. We met at each other’s homes, visited with each other outside of our regular quilt group meetings, and planned outings. It was a fun time that unfortunately came to a close when I had a kid and several of the girls moved away. Things change.

My friend and I (and several of the others) kept up on Facebook, but we hadn’t actually spoken in years. I wanted to have one of my old quilt tops finished and she does them professionally, so I gave her a call. It was wonderful.

So silly, I thought making a phone call would be a big deal, but it wasn’t. It was easy. We talked and laughed and made plans to get together, which we did. I regret not calling her sooner, but I won’t beat myself up about it. Gotta keep moving forward, after all.

Back to her wisdom, though. She said something that stuck with me; something I found comforting (was I in need of comfort? maybe). She said that it’s okay to be in a fallow season. Nothing grows all the time. Of course. In nature there’s an ebb and flow, so it stands to reason that a person has those types of cycles as well.

So maybe I’m in a fallow season, but I think it might be drawing to a close. I’m starting to feel the desire to create again, and I’m glad. I LIKE creating, just for the sake of the doing. Having a nice finished product is a bonus, as far as I’m concerned.

Yes, I love the quilts I’ve made (most of them, anyway) and the scrapbooks I’ve completed put a smile on my face, but the doing is what I enjoy the most, or as least I have, in the past. I hope to recapture some of that feeling, after all it would justify at least some of the goodies I’ve collected over the years. In the meantime, I can be satisfied with the knowledge that nothing grows all the time, and for that I thank my friend.

September 22, 2014
by BulgingButtons 4 Comments

My Midnight Affair

Midnight and I have this on again, off again relationship. No matter how hard I try to tear myself away, I find myself coming back over and over again. I know it isn’t necessarily a healthy relationship, after all, I often regret my visits with Midnight by the light of day. Still, I can’t seem to stay away.

Midnight and I first became acquainted when I was quite young. There was a certain New Year’s Eve party hosted by my parents that went on well past, you guessed it, Midnight. Nobody was paying much attention to what I was doing, so I stayed up and enjoyed the party. Midnight was exciting!

Later on I revisited my friend Midnight, but in a much quieter way. I would lose myself in my bedtime reading, and before I would know it, Midnight would arrive on tiptoe. I never actually invited Midnight into my world, but there it was.

The more I saw of Midnight, the more I enjoyed it, until the craziness of my college years. Midnight was when things were just getting going during those years. Midnight and I were in full swing, and we had nothing to hide. So I slept in the next morning, big deal. I was in college. Who cared? Certainly not my professors. They gave the lectures whether I was in my seat or not. It took me a very short time to realize that scheduling early morning classes wasn’t a particularly good idea for me. After all, I was up with Midnight most every night.

After college Midnight and I continued our relationship. I worked late hours and stayed up late. For a while at least. Then things changed. I got a new job. A real job. One that required me to not only be at work early, but to be on the ball. Reluctantly I said goodbye to Midnight, at least during the work week. On the weekends we picked up where we left off, but it wasn’t the same.

I got older and became a mother. Now Midnight had a whole new meaning. Midnight and I weren’t hanging out anymore, I was way too exhausted for that. We would only see each other when the baby needed something.. Midnight and I kind of nodded at each other, but we didn’t speak much during those years.

As my son grew, so did my longing for my old friend Midnight. I began to stay up late to read or sew or work on scrapbooks. Sure, I still had to get up early, but I wasn’t working at the kind of job that needed 100% brainpower from the minute I walked in the door. I could do it. I could work all day, be a mom and wife in the evening, and hang out with Midnight after everyone else went to bed. No problem. Until I went back to teaching.

Teaching is unlike other jobs. There is a ton of homework for the teacher, and it never seems to all get done. It also requires mental sharpness from the minute you walk in the door (which is long before the students arrive) to the minute you leave (which is long after the students leave). There’s no zoning out. Ever.

Midnight doesn’t care about all that. Midnight still wants to hang out with me. It doesn’t care if we party or read quietly or mess around with crafts or work on lesson plans. Midnight just likes my company. Frankly, I like being around Midnight, but it’s getting more and more difficult as I get older. I find that my mornings after Midnight are rough, and that I’m not on my game. I have to pull away. I have to force myself to go to bed and leave Midnight alone, without my company.

Still, I don’t always succeed. I find my way back to Midnight on a regular basis, tonight included. I just can’t quite seem to leave it alone. I know I’ll pay for it tomorrow, but for now I’m enjoying my time with Midnight.

August 12, 2014
by BulgingButtons 8 Comments

Damn You, Pinterest Divas

I’m sitting here in my office/studio/craft room (I haven’t settled on one name for it yet) surrounded by boxes waiting to be unpacked, and cursing the people who have posted all those amazing office/studio/craft room pictures on Pinterest. I have the room, I have the furniture, and I have the stuff, but I don’t have the office/studio/craft room of my dreams. I don’t even have one worthy of a photo. At least not yet.

I had an idea in my head of what my space would ultimately look like, but as I’m sitting in it, the reality of my environment is slowly sinking in. It’s not Tiffany Blue. It doesn’t have a hardwood floor. There is no chandelier. There are no built in cabinets. None of the furniture is white. In fact, it looks a lot less like Pinterest and a lot more like a cluttered suburban bedroom with a desk stuck in the middle. Go figure.

More or less my fantasy studio

The funny part about it is that the desk isn’t really even a desk. It’s a table, and it used to be my kitchen table. It’s from IKEA and it’s not terribly fancy, but it’s a great size, and it gets the job done. Add in two matching floating shelves for my flying pig collection and family photos, my four double cube units for quilting fabric, and my two big bookcases, and you might think I would be golden. You would be wrong.

I also have a set of matching IKEA drawers and a small Closetmaid nine cube unit. The fabric cubes and the big bookcases are brown, everything else is black. The walls and carpet are beige. Not a dull, ugly beige, but a modern pretty beige. Still, beige is beige. Stunning, right?

I can’t have a chandelier, I need my ceiling fan, and frankly it’s new and it looks pretty good. I won’t be getting hardwood flooring. I live in a super-dry climate and wood doesn’t do that well. Besides, the carpet is new. The paint job is new too, so Tiffany Blue will have to run its course in other people’s homes. I do love it, but will I next year? Beige is forever, people. Looking around, it occurs to me that I actually sort of like my space. I have my books, my fabric, my pigs, my computer, and my sewing machine. I have room to work, and if I’m in the middle of a mess I can shut the door and nobody has to know. I more than like my space, I’m growing to love it.

No, there are no cute decals on the wall about home and family and living and laughing and loving. And no, I don’t have color coordinated bins for my supplies or a chevron printed office chair, but I have space. I have space to think and plan and create and design and write and sew and dream and wonder. I have space to display the things that inspire me and space to store the tools I need to help me turn those inspirations into finished products. My room may not be Pinterest worthy, but I do love it here. Now if I could only get the rest of those infernal boxes unpacked…