The ride was side tracked...

Five and a half years later....

Oh, right - there was this ride I was supposed to get on.  And enjoy. 

But it seems I was side tracked.  Dis-tracked.  Got on a completely different ride and forgot all about the first one.  I just did a free writing exercise earlier today.  I've been frustrated and wired and feeling quite out of sorts.  When one doesn't use one's muscles regularly they deteriorate.  My brain is one such muscle.  I found my way back to this blog today by chance - I'd completely forgotten about it.  Or maybe I thought I'd unsubscribed.  I don't know. In any case, it was certainly not at the front of my thoughts at any point over the past half decade.

But today I finally decided to put words down.  Because I'm tired of being brain dead.  I'm tired of thinking about creating something, but not actually doing anything about it.  And then I stumbled back on this blog. I wasn't looking for it at all - it really was by chance - totally unconnected to my writing exercise.  Although I should know by now that nothing is by chance.

In any case, this is what I wrote.  I don't particularly like it - but it's a start.  And I need to make a commitment to write just a little every week.  Just a little.  We'll see where it goes...

Things Lost.

Somewhere along the way, I lost my spark.  It now sits somewhere in my memory, buried.  A flicker of a shadow of something.  I remember myself as an energetic, free, creative girl.  My imagination was boundless.  I remember recounting dreams to my dad…long, rambling, pointless dreams where the protagonist gets caught up in pink puffy dresses and kitten stockings and sledding matches on horseback.  “are you sure that was a dream, Tary?  It sounds more like a story”  I was embarrassed.  Was it a story?  Was I lying?  Because it wasn’t my dream, it was what I wanted my dream to be.  Lying is bad.  So, is storytelling lying?  Is that a bad thing?

I used to start projects with fever and passion.  One year I decided that parachute pants were my “thing”.  I must have made twenty pair.  Okay, maybe not twenty.  That’s perhaps a bit of a stretch.  There I go, lying again….but it does make for a good story.  Twenty pair of shiny parachute pants.   I probably only made three or four pair.  My mother thought they were ridiculous.  They were.  Wow, were they ever.  I think I made a pair out of green and brown vertical striped satin.  I looked like a circus tent.  But I made them.  They were mine.

I wonder what ever happened to all of the things I made?  I would love to have a big room just for my ‘projects’.  I’m quite good at starting them.  Planning them out, getting all the pieces together.  Sketching the finished product – whatever it may be – a paper snowflake, a painted desk, a pair of parachute pants.  There’s so much I would love to be able to do – but never feel like I have the time or space to do it.  So I never even bother to start.  Because when I do start something – I rarely ever finish it.  I get bored quickly.  Or frustrated.  Or overwhelmed with the mess.  My easel has been very lonely these past seven years.  Not that I ever really used it much in the first place.  I remember hauling it home from the art store – I was SO excited!  I did use it – I maybe painted one or two things I liked.  But for about a year, I used it regularly.  But I stopped.  My paint box is in a closet – the paint tubes are probably all dried up.  I have a beautiful collection of yarn.  I was getting quite good at knitting. Lace was my favorite thing to knit.  Intricate and interesting.  Knitting is good, because you can do it while watching TV, sitting in a meeting, on a plane, listening to the radio.  I think I started to get carpel tunnel and stopped.  Now my yarn is collecting dust under the guest bed.  Every Christmas I endeavor to do something fun – make hand made decorations, snowflakes, table covers, pendants.  Whatever.  It overwhelms me.  I have a basket and a desk in the basement full of paper, glitter, sequins, paint, glue, ribbon….I have collected more beach stones and shells than I can count.  They were intended for jewelry, sculptures, projects.

Projects begun but never finished.  Because somewhere, I lost the spark to keep the momentum going.