Chicago -OR- What I love about middle children

Warning: this is going to be one of those not-necessarily-crafty, essay type posts. 

There is something really special about Chicago. 

Chicago is the proverbial middle child of large US cities. Some might consider this analogy only in reference to Chicago's geographic location (it's in the middle of the country). However, the analogy is multifaceted; like most middle children and like books between elaborate bookends, Chicago can sometimes be easy to overlook.

It is smart and genuine but always compared- for better or for worse- to its older and younger siblings: it's the less notorious but smarter sister to New York; it's the less ostentatious but considerably more genuine sister to Los Angeles. It is breathtaking and beautiful and yet somehow caught in the blindspot of popular consciousness.

But, I wonder- like most middle children- if Chicago prefers to shy from the onerous and usually dysfunctional limelight of notoriety; I hypothesize that it is more than to content to be smart and genuine and breathtaking without attracting the attention that plagues those that are notorious and ostentatious.

My thought for today: Do what you love.

At the risk of being a complete cliche, I have decided to write a chick lit romance novel. That's right. I'm doing that thing which will likely make me ridiculous in the eyes of everyone who doesn't actually matter. Honestly though, peeps, I can't seem to bring myself to feel to embarrassed about it because I'm having too much fun. I've added a page to this blog entitled, "Writing Projects."

Maybe I've crossed over that youthful line into adult-ville, where things like modesty and fear of being  stereotyped don't really seem to matter.

I love being a mom and I love my kids. I love the work that I do. I have a great husband (and I love him). I love to knit. I love to carve stamps/blocks. I love to sew. I love red wine. I love laughing with my friends. I love to write. And, I love a good romance.

While you're doing what you love, make sure you give the two hand, two finger salute to anyone who tries to make you feel bad for who you are or what your passions are. If those people mattered, they'd support you and love you regardless and they definitely wouldn't want you to feel ridiculous.

Just, do what you love.

Own. It.

The difference between admiration and appreciation

There is a fundamental difference between admiration and appreciation.

Do you ever hear applause in your head after you've made something really, really awesome?

This has only happened to me maybe 5 times in my craftlife (which has spanned approximately 3 years; I'm in my craft-toddlerhood at present). I finish the last stitch or seam, finish cutting the last bar of soap, carving away the last bit of linoleum, pick up the finished object, hold it up so I can see, and then I hear applause and the roar of a crowd in my head, snapping of pictures with flash photography, feet thumping against the floor in appreciation. The last time this happened I actually said the words,

"... and the crowd goes wild..."

I said the words quietly, just to myself, but it made me smile in much the same way baseball players smile after hitting a home run.

I feel like my family plays the role of the fans as I round home base: they smile with me, give me Fonzie style thumbs-ups and high fives. However, they don't sew or knit or crochet or othercraft; therefore, even though I know they truly admire the final product, they can't know the work that went into it.

I think the thing I love the most about my knitting group, my penpal Jemimah, my Kilkarians and my workfriendcrafters (and about SAW) is that, instead of fans, I feel like I am surrounded by teammates. We stand (or sit) side-by-side, working together, problem-solving together, and- when the day is done and the project is finished- we each intimately know the work required to get from A to Z and can truly appreciate the end result.

There is a knowing in appreciation that isn't there with admiration.

That stated, I still really like it when the crowd goes wild.