Ornament disasters

It might have come to your attention by now that I won’t be a cake decorator when I grow up as evidenced by Cake Disasters I and II. So let’s move on to ornaments.

There was a time, long, long ago—let’s call them the good old days—when all the women in my family lived in the same town, and we got together often and did crafty things. Let me say first that I am not a crafty person (see cake links above), but I am shifty. I didn’t want my mom, sister, and sister-in-law having fun without me. Nor did I want them talking about me behind my back, especially since I provided them continuous gossip material in which to discuss. Of course, looking back now, my life wasn’t near as newsworthy as I imagined. In all likelihood, I would not have made headlines in any of their conversations. I might have made the comics section, if at all (Born Loser comes to mind).

So when they got together for Christmas crafts, I was right there in the center of it all, an imposter among the creative. Lucille Ball vs Martha Stewarts. Once I got into it, there was no turning back. My over focused ADD took center stage, and I committed myself 110% to the project, tuning out the banter, the background Christmas music, the instructions. And I would look up and they would be gone, finished light hours ahead of me, dispersed to other parts of the house or to bed. But ha! I finished. Let’s take a look.

The first pictured are the oldest from my childhood. Here we have some silk and velvet fabric-draped bulbs with fancy pins. My mother’s is the one on the left, my sister’s on the right. Time of completion: 30 minutes.

And here’s mine.

 

 

Time of completion: 3 hours.(sans instructions, of course)

 

Pictured below is a cinnamon log by my sister-in-law and a handpainted bulb by my mother.

 

And here’s my horse/donkey/whatever.

 

 

Pay close attention to its face. Forget the time involved.

 

Below is another handpainted bulb by my mom that is the most recent, painted eleven years ago for my infant and says “Baby’s First Christmas” on the back.

Baby's First Christmas

Here’s another by my mom.

Here’s an older creation from my sister-in-law.

And here’s mine from 1989 on maternity leave with my first. So essentually, this is my Baby’s First Christmas.

 I’m scared. What if I’m an imposter to writing too? What if any one of these ladies, should she decide this minute, writes a book. Will it be done in a fraction amount of time than mine? Will it shine with effortless prose, structure, and style? Will it be about me?

Okay, I can strike off that last one. Where I lacked in creativity, I made up for in paranoia. But I have enough residual paranoia left to worry I’m all a sham, and if my cakes and ornaments are anything to show for it, then I’m in deep doo doo.  

Are you creative in areas besides writing?