So Sorry, Not Gifted...

There's been something that I've been thinking about for a few days. And I think I've come to a conclusion.

I'm not gifted.

I'm not surprised by this....just a little disappointed.

I'm not an artist. I am "crafty". This isn't impressive. I can sew, bake, and cook. But, this is only because I can follow instructions and I don't mind prep work. I actually like prep work. I enjoy laying out the patterns, cutting precisely, assembly the ingredients and measuring correctly, I like to chop up vegetables, stir till a sauce thickens, and fill individual serving dishes with exactly the same amount of vanilla pudding. I prefer projects that are precise and not free form. I enjoy cross-stitch more than crewel work. I agonize over the uniformity of my knitting or crochet stitches. I like my cookies the same size and my cupcakes to look virtually identically iced. This also makes me obsessive. Well, perhaps "obsessive" is too strong a term. Picky, ...fussy,... anal.

I do not "scrap book". Too free-form. I do not cut my pictures into fun shapes or add bows, ribbons, or bits of cloth. I assemble photos in an organized way that chronicles a specific time period or particular subject. I save little mementos that I intersperse with the pictures, like ticket stubs or receipts or menus. Flat, appropriate memorabilia, so as not to disrupt the way the album closes or lays flat on the desk or stands precisely on a shelf.

I have not tried quilting. When I do, I bet I will pick a pattern with precision cut geometric shapes fitting together in repetitive designs and possibly machine stitched. I don't like the idea of using a sewing machine for quilting, and my hand hemming is arguably the best and most exact that you'll find anywhere, so I can only hope I'll be just fine.

I am adventurous with color, but only on things that can be easily changed. I prefer neutral walls.

I am not an athlete. My most important attribute when it comes to physical activity is that I am stubborn. Really, really stubborn. Pigheaded. If I set out to do something, or, God forbid, someone tells me I can't or shouldn't, I will complete the task or die trying. I have no natural ability. I don't run, I waddle. I have short legs. But, if I set out to run three miles, I will complete those three miles if I am sick, injured, and irregardless of the weather. I had lightening strike not 25 feet from me on a run a few years ago. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. You could smell the ozone. I waited it out on someone's porch and finished my course. I attend a kickboxing class once a week. I love it. I'm older than anyone by 10 years. I attended covered in poison ivy rash. No one would partner me. But I wouldn't leave. It's what I do on Wednesday nights. I have run races with blisters bleeding into my sneakers. But, I'm not competitive. I only enter races where they won't shoot you if you're last, because I have come in last. And I've entered races since then.

Which leads me to the next little item. I am not a genius. Probably not even close. I don't know what my I.Q. is, but I'd bet I won't be pleasantly surprised. I read voraciously. But, mostly novels. I try poetry, but it hasn't been pretty. I will read the occasional non-fiction selection (I enjoyed "John Adams" by David McCullough, but who didn't?). But mostly, I just read for enjoyment. I read the paper everyday - the comics, the advice columns, and the letters to the editor. I know how to, and I can, balance a check-book. I will not quit till it agrees with the statement. I then close the check-book and couldn't tell you what the balance is to save my life! I multiply on my fingers, for God's sake! Sudoku makes me physically ill! I do enjoy watching Indy films. That's either a big plus, or proves my point.

And I'm afraid I may not be a novelist. What if I'm just a "journalist"? And not a good one?

And there's something else I need to confess. Daughter is pregnant with her third child. This is wonderful news. And even though this baby is no larger that a shirt button, I love it with every fiber of my being. I can't wait till March, when she's due. But, I wonder if I'm up to it. I have limits and that scares me. I HAVE LIMITS! I know this from experience. It's a lie from the pit of hell that we can do and have time for everything we want to do. Sometimes, I'm so tired. I don't want to be too tired for those babies. I don't want to be too tired for my daughter. And I want to have something left over for Tall One. You wouldn't believe how patient and supportive that man has been for the last thirty years. And there are so many others that I treasure, that I don't want to let down. Not for them. They love me, they would understand. But for me, ME. Life flys by. And, I'm not gifted....and I think I might need to be....