52 Lists // Week Thirteen

(Photo by Morrea Seal — like I have to spell that out for you people.)
My God. Has a week gone by already?Here’s my Week Thirteen installment of the fun and thought-provoking blog project from Morrea Seal, called the 52 Lists Project.

This week: what do I want to make? Huh. I wish I was more crafty, but I’m not. I like to make jewelry, but my creations usually fall apart after my daughter or I wear it once or twice. I tried making napkin rings for my mother one Christmas, with vintage buttons and elastic, and one of the rings just flew apart after a few months. Buttons everywhere. Not my best work.
I can’t sew. I don’t knit. Not a painter, or a sculptor. I can barely braid hair. I guess I’m more of a crafter of the things-that-go-in-your-tummy-and-your-soul-and-your-heart-and-your-memories variety. Not that other crafters aren’t. But they make something that you can hold. I guess you can hold mine, too. In your tummy and your soul and your heart and your memories.
This week’s assignment: list the things you want to make.
  • Out. A lot. (Come on. You knew I was gonna go there.)
  • Love. A lot. (See above.)
  • Laughter. All the damn time.
  • A safe, happy, cozy, creative, nurturing and love-stuffed home — for myself, for my husband, for my children, and anyone else who happens to stop by. You want coffee? I got danish. There’s fruit in that one.
  • Photo books or albums for my children — so their memories can travel with them when they go out in the world. So they can remember who they were, when they were small.
  • Memories. Without always trying to chase after them with my camera. Just take a soul picture of them, like Linda McCartney used to tell her kids. Remember this.
  • A community. Of friends, and neighbors, and writers, and creative souls, and children, who ring the bell when they need a grown-up or a mommy. I think I do that. I want to keep doing it.
  • A rock collection, with my boy, this summer. He loves gems and granite and quartz and pyrite, just like I did. And still do.
  • A mother-daughter book club. Maybe the girl and I will get to those two books when she’s back from camp. We’ll have two weeks before school starts.
  • A library of books that I’ll want to lose myself in for the rest of my life.
  • A magnetic chalkboard wall, somewhere in my house. Maybe the kitchen.
  • Ice pops for grown-ups, in flavors like margarita and basil-watermelon and kiwi-melon.
  • A sweater for my husband. Someday I’ll learn how to knit. I cursed too much the last time I tried, when I was in my twenties.
  • A big, comfy, giant cable-knit throw for my house. I want to spend an entire day in a yarn shop picking out the texture and the color.
  • Mixed berry pie with a flaky, homemade crust, from the raspberry and blackberry bushes in our garden. I want my husband to eat a big piece and feel like he’s eight again. He picked them in the summer with his sister, running barefoot in his swim team Speedo and eating half of them before he brought them into his mother’s kitchen so she could freeze them and bake with them. You see that little boy over there? The one with the bowl cut and concave chest, and the streaks of sun-bleached hair, with smears of blackberry on his fingertips and lips? Him right there. That’s my husband. Wasn’t he adorable?
  • New fabric covers for the ottomans that the g.d. cat destroyed.
  • A larger collection of family photos in our hallway gallery. My kids need more ancestors around them as they grow up.
  • Friendship bracelets with my kids.
  • Photographs. And not just on Instagram. With my old SLR camera. Hell, maybe even with film, like I used to. Maybe I’ll even get back into a darkroom, and not know what the hell I’m doing, like I used to.
  • Reservations for more dinners out alone with my husband, and with friends that we keep saying we’ll get together with, before another three months go by.
  • Food. All kinds. Love to cook. Don’t try new recipes enough. I want to be that Smitten Kitchen chick.
  • A book. Maybe two.
  • A movie. Maybe two.
  • A play, maybe a monologue.
  • Better sense of things.
  • More time for myself. I thought I would travel into the city more last year — to museum exhibits, to the city Archives and the Cloisters, to Brooklyn and Queens, to so many places still on my list — but I’ll make time for myself to do that this year. Cross my heart.
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