You know those mega craft stores? The ones that sell everything on the planet and then some? Those stores are awesome, but for me they’re overwhelming. Rows and rows and rows of geegaws to whip together into something spectacular!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty good at throwing things together. Those super craft stores are chock-full of ready-to-go home decor, and heaven knows there’s nothing I like better than spiffing up my home and changing things out. This allows me the luxury of thinking of myself as a creative person. However, that vein of creativity doesn’t lend itself to crafts. That gene missed me by more than a mile.
It’s not like I haven’t tried, I’ve tangled with my fair share of glue guns and I’ve got the scars to prove it. But I’ve never emerged the victor when it comes to even the most remedial of crafts. I don’t know why that is. My friends are all crafty, I mean beyond talented. I have quilting friends and crocheting friends and jewelry making friends, painting friends and friends that can turn roadside junk into treasure, and I have one friend that can do all those things! My church-lady friends are all so talented that they could easily create and profit on Etsy.
But not me. I’m the girl who pays other people to do the craft for me at my church’s Super Saturday, which is a ladies get-together and make–all-kinds-of-crafty-things day. These classes are usually geared so that even the most remedial crafter can make and take something awesome home…anyone except for me that is. (My creations could be famous as Pinterest fails.) Weeks before the event, the upcoming projects are on display at the church. Even the display itself is a work of art, usually set up by some gal who has a large family, bakes her own bread, is getting her masters, and runs marathons. Then another little gal has meticulously scrapbooked handouts with tiny little brads and embellishments and it’s even magnetized so I can stick it to my fridge, so I have no excuse not to go and attempt at least one small project, after all how hard can it be?
Numerous friends, not believing my un-crafty claims, have encouraged me over the years, even insisting I sign up for a class with them. Sadly, in my enthusiasm I always sign up even though I know what the outcome’s gonna be…I’m nothing if not enthusiastic! When we get there it’s literally crafting for dummies. But as everyone else sands and paints their little artsy-craftsy fannies off, I sit there like a lump, not knowing a stipple from a swoosh. I’ve watched hours of Bob Ross on PBS in preparation for this moment-but all to no avail. Everyone else gathers up their skillfully executed imaginative projects (they all have managed to complete multiple mini-classes). Meanwhile, I gather my one incomplete, sad-sack, sorry-looking whatchamacallit, and I swear I hear a few low whispers and giggles behind my back as I do the walk of shame to my car, leaving a glitter trail in my wake.
Sneaking the eyesore into the house is the tricky part. My family encourages me in my crafty endeavors, so there’s always anticipation that maybe this time will be different. The hall closet door creaks like a haunted house as I quickly toss the latest misfit in, which unfortunately causes a chain reaction as twenty long years of Super Saturday projects avalanche back out, each one bearing a sad testimony of my inability to evolve as an artist. Not sure why I keep them. They certainly don’t help my self-esteem; they’re like a train wreck and I can’t look away. As I secret them back to their hidey-hole, I vow never again to be taken in by the crafty siren-song. Maybe a little retail therapy is in order, after all I do have a 40% off coupon for Hobby Lobby, and I am looking pretty stylin’ in my artsy bandanna, rockin’ those paint and glue-gun battle scars if I do say so myself. As I drive along I sing a little song, ‘Cause we are living in a Pinterest/Etsy world and I am a non-crafty girl…(All together now)