In Search of a Bone

I’m missing one. You know the one I’m talking about. We say it all the time. I don’t have a creative bone in my body. Well, I want it. Where is it? Why don’t I have one?

I seem to be missing a funny bone too. But for some reason I wound up with more bones to pick than most people. Why these bones aren’t more evenly distributed is a mystery to me.

I have tried my hand at all manner of creative endeavors. It started out with paint by numbers at age 12. There was more paint on my clothes than the canvas. I enjoyed it immensely but my mother was so upset she made me pay for the clothes I ruined. I earned the money by unpacking new neighbors on base.

Then I finally managed to afford my own sewing machine after years of seeing the phenomenal garments my mother turned out on hers. I was never allowed to touch her machine and she didn’t have the patience to teach me sewing. I learned a few basics at school and the rest was trial and error. Mostly error. But even with the struggle to understand the directions or get the proper fit, I enjoyed the process of making things.

Needlework seemed a wonderful option for many years. I could take it with me everywhere and it was a great conversation starter. It relaxed me during long flights till they took the scissors away. How can you do needlework and not snip your threads or ribbon? Reading a book said to my seatmates that I didn’t want to be disturbed. I did want to be disturbed and I missed having my hands too busy to put food in my mouth.

The hand needlework was much like paint by numbers. Just follow the lines and use the assigned thread colors to fill in the spaces. It seemed a natural progression to try my hand at machine embroidery when those fancy machines came out. I was too fearful to try freeform but letting the machine do the work looked like fun. It was, but nothing, just like with the sewing went according to plan. Everything I took it upon myself to try, ended up beating me up. I could sew for hours in the evening, only to spend hours in the morning taking it back apart. The books always made it look so effortless. Liars!

Next I tried my hand at quilting. Not because I wanted to cut beautiful fabric into a thousand little pieces and put it back together again but because I wanted a quilt. My husband said the 4 or 5 hundred dollars they wanted for one was just ridiculous. So I bought the fabric, spent a year cutting, sewing, ripping out, swearing and sewing again until it was adequate enough to use. By the hour that quilt was a grand or more. The fabric alone was almost the price of the finished quilt I wanted not to mention the cost of all the extra tools real quilters need. There were days I almost threw all the machines away. Instead I sold the older machines. Now I’m down to one and if I don’t get well soon, it’s going to rust up from lack of use.

Turns out I was adequate at borrowing others ideas, though very dense at coming up with my own. There is so much creativity around how could my little mind surpass what was already bountiful. Maybe I’m just destined to appreciate the creativity of others, which I do indeed.

So here is where the funny bone comes in. I think it’s THE most necessary bone in the body. If it’s not missing entirely, mine seems to be quite out-of-place and not in usable form. I love to read funny things that make me laugh. It’s a joy I would seriously love to pass on. We get funny things e-mailed daily and forwarded as quickly. My favorite authors are those that can make me laugh. But everything that comes out of my mouth or off my pen is way too serious for words.

How can a person survive in this world without a funny bone? I swear I’m looking for a surgeon who will install one in me. This darned Bells Palsy has made all attempts at creativity difficult since my eyes are not tracking together right now. So for me a sense of humor is vital to getting though the day while my eye droops enough that I see the lid all day. A sense of humor would help while I get on the bus or walk through the mall like I’ve had more than my limit at the local pub and it’s only 9 a.m.

So where the heck are my bones? I could sure use them. If anyone locates them, I can be reached at 00 2 short. Yes, there are a few brain cells missing as well. I’m certain they are long gone and are never to return.

From my heart to yours,
Marlene Herself