Happy Handwriting

The Sailor has been joking with me lately about the mail. Whenever he's home, he tends to walk to the boxes and pick up the post. Usually by late afternoon I've asked him if he got the mail already. If he didn't, I volunteer to go. Last week he joked with me that I couldn't even wait one day to see what we got in the mail.

It's not that we get that much interesting stuff -- or even bills (hooray for online payments!) We do get the occasional card from friends and family, a magazine we've subscribed to, or something we ordered online. It's just that ever since I was a child, I've looked forward to getting the mail. 

Like many children of my generation I had a pen-pal -- several in fact. Daily, I anxiously awaited a letter from one of them. I always associated Sundays with that day to not bother looking in the mailbox. Sundays always disappointed me a little. 

Later, my forays to get the mail turned into awaiting letters from friends I made at summer camp, or cards and packages from home when I was at college. 

Overseas, I anticipated letters from family and friends and I got a thrill going to foreign post offices to mail cards with greetings in other languages. 

Recently, I noted that I only had a few stamps left. I realized my most recent book of stamps had lasted me way too long. I also realized that I couldn't recognize all of my friends' handwriting if I tried. It used to be that I could look at the address on a card and know exactly who mailed it to me without peeking at the return label. (There are still some friends for whom this is true!) Nowadays though, I have people in my life I've only ever texted or emailed. 

I have no idea what their handwriting looks like. 

Last week I put my stash of greeting cards nearer to the working part of my desk and I shopped for a bunch of new ones. I'm determined to bring back snail mail in my life. And even if I don't know my friends' handwriting, they could at least be somewhat familiar with mine.

Because you know, if I'm this excited about getting handwritten letters and cards in the mail -- maybe other people are too. 

But first, I need to buy some more stamps. 
 

Life: Expecting

Today, after cleaning the apartment and making lunch, I said to the Sailor that I didn't know what to blog about. Oh, I have a slew of DIY and craft ideas scribbled in a notebook, but none of them seemed appropriate today. He shrugged and said, 'Blog about life.' 

I moaned back, 'I do blog about life...'

He rattled through the list of things I blog about, cooking, crafting... and said I needed to add a bit more about life in there. (This, from the man that I wasn't even sure knew what I wrote on here.)

The Sailor was onto something. 

I have always been able to express myself better through writing than any other method of communication. I can pour out my soul in journals and with stories in ways that I've never been able to share verbally with friends or even family. It's funny to me that although I have included some of my life on this blog, there is still so much that I've left out, often intentionally.

I am a particularly private person. I may know a ton of people and have a bunch of friends on Facebook, but very few know the ins and outs of my life. I tend to not air my proverbial laundry (whether dirty or clean) in public. 

I have enjoyed writing about bits of my life on Typing Sunflowers -- even if it's all about cooking, crafts and crochet. But there's a lot more going on at the moment, an event that I can no longer hide -- at least if you met me in person. It's quite evident by my growing belly, and it's not just because I have a weakness for Five Guys cheeseburgers. 

I'm expecting.

My initial reaction to the news of this event, was to simply ask the Sailor just how much we trusted a $1 pregnancy test made in China. And then I panicked a little. A baby?! 

Over Thanksgiving, I briefly visited a friend and her four-month-old baby. I held the wee one for a few minutes and when he started squirming and cringing like he was about to cry, I promptly handed him back to his mother. I told her I didn't know what to do with babies. I actually heard a gasp from across the room -- and another friend looked at me quite incredulously, then proceeded to tell me how much she loved babies.

I never said I didn't like babies. But I've never been a 'baby person'. You know the type -- the ones who swarm around a newborn and beg to hold it, wanting to know every little detail about the child's eating and sleeping habits. The ones who dream of being pregnant and having children and feel like life will never be complete without them. 

That was never me. 

The Sailor and I have always loved our life together -- just the two of us. Not even a year ago, down on the farm, a dear friend asked me flat out my position on having kids. Not many friends could ask me that and get an answer out of me, but she could. I'm still not sure what I actually said, but I know I hesitated long enough for the other gals there to chime in and let it be known that perhaps I wasn't ready to have a baby.  

Whether or not I'm ready to have a baby is irrelevant. (The more I think about this, is anyone ever 100% ready...?) Clearly God had other plans for us, because here I am, 21 weeks into this adventure. I haven't turned into a 'baby person' overnight. But I take great comfort in knowing that my own mother was the same way as me before she had kids -- she had hardly held a baby until she brought my brother home from the hospital, and she was and still is one of the most amazing mothers I know. She may not have been a 'baby person' but she still fiercely loved her own babies.  

It's a little crazy to think that I'm now a mama to this tiny being growing inside of me. I've found myself smiling whenever I feel the Peanut kicking, and more than once I've gotten a little emotional when I've heard that heartbeat. 

And even though I panicked a little that first day I heard the news... I also starting knitting baby socks. Because really, knitting socks is about the calmest thing I can think of when life gives you some unbelievable news -- especially when that news is something worth expecting. 

And that, my friends, is life.

Betty Wason

This week, there will be a lot of cooking going on. I've seen so much yummy goodness already posted in the blogosphere that I think I'm starting to sniff my computer screen some days. 

I won't be cooking the turkey this year -- I'll leave that one to my mother. (Let's all give pause to the women -- and men -- who will be cooking up a storm this week. Let's also give thanks for shared recipes that get passed down through cultures and generations.)

Eons ago back in July, I made German Sauerbraten and I mentioned The Art of German Cooking author, Betty Wason. I also promised to tell you more about this fascinating lady.

I picked up this book at a thrift store for a whole dollar -- I have a thing for old cookbooks (especially bargains) and figured this one could actually come in handy with some practical recipes. 

I perused the anecdotes to the stories and was a little transfixed. This woman could write. I mean it's one thing to write a recipe... it's quite another to offer the reader the added bonus of an entertaining story to go along with it. I just assumed Betty Wason was a great cook who also had a talent for writing. 

Her name sounded so familiar to me though. 

I delved a little deeper, and then discovered, amongst many other talents, that she had been a war correspondent between 1938-1941. She country-hopped through various invasions, but despite finding the stories on the ground, her employer, CBS, asked her to find a man to read her texts. 

Wait, what?! 

Apparently they thought the audience wouldn't be receptive to a woman's voice on air. Later, the man who read her texts was offered a contract. (There is so much more to the story here and here.)  

Eventually, when Betty returned home to America, where she was rebuffed by CBS (!) and turned her attention instead to writing books. Her cookbooks are by far the most numerous. 

She has also been featured in one of my all-time favorite books: The Women Who Wrote the War by Nancy Caldwell Sorel.

So, as we all gorge ourselves on American goodness this week, let us also give thanks to the amazingly brave and talented women like Betty Wason -- who not only gave us some fantastic recipes from around the world, but who more importantly, reported on events that changed the world forever -- even if they didn't always get the credit.   



 

Artful Blogging

Ever since my first story got published, I've always been a little giddy when I see something of mine in print. 

Some things never change. 

This time, I'm even more excited than usual. 

A little over a year after I started this blog, I'm now featured in the winter edition of Artful Blogging from Stampington & Company!

This magazine has inspired me on so many levels -- and it was one of the very things that prompted me to start this blog in the first place. I'm thrilled to be featured in their pages -- and I can't wait to sit down and read the rest of the stories of fellow bloggers, inside. 

If you've stumbled upon Typing Sunflowers as a result of reading Artful Blogging, then a very special welcome to you! 

The Incredible Itch...

Insanabile Cacoethes Scribendi 

- Juvenal

OR, simply... 

The Incredible Itch to Write

I'm working on a few things this week that I'll hopefully be able to share on the blog later. In the meantime, let's all raise a glass to the inventor of the cut and paste feature on the computer. While I learned to type on a vintage contraption like the typewriter above, I'm not sure I would be as prolific or productive if I had to type out everything on one today.

Stay tuned... later this week I'll be announcing another giveaway, as well as a few other fun things! In the meantime, I need to scratch an itch... Thankfully I don't have to change any typewriter ribbon.

Write it Out

I have been missing regular doses of writing lately. I know I've been posting things and writing about them... but occasionally I feel the need to hole myself up in a coffee shop and type and type and type for days on end.

It's how I tend to process things. It's the reason I stayed up late to finish that last post about my brother. I needed to write something... I needed to process what I couldn't verbalize to even friends and family.

I had a Psychology teacher at university tell our class that the best way to get through trauma and life in general is to pray it out, run it out, cry it out and write it out.

I have always loved this simplicity. And while I've replaced the running with walking instead over the years, I have definitely gone for the other three with vigor.

Head Start on New Year's Resolutions

In less than two weeks, it's likely most of us will be declaring our New Year's Resolutions to family, friends and collegues. 

Or, if you're more like me, you may scribble the resolutions down perhaps in a private journal -- a kind of insurance to make sure nobody knows whether or not you have succeeded by the end of the year.

Admit it -- most of us have high expectations. We want to lose (insert pounds/kilos/stones), we want to do more, be better, pass the exam and get the promotion. We want to look like and actually be one of the 'successful' people. 

A few years ago, I made myself a goal book. I had some lofty goals in mind. I wanted to read one book a week, lose weight, do various photography projects, and get rid of other 'baggage' in my life -- all in one go! 

I definitely had some high ambitions. Throughout the year I referred to the book and kept a tally of how far behind I was on various projects. At the end of 2010, I looked back on my goal book and felt like a failure. I read half as many books as I wanted to, lost only a few pounds (and then gained them all back) cooked less than I planned to, and still had some baggage lurking, both proverbially and physically. 

My procrastination skills got the better of me in 2011 and instead of creating a new goal book, I revisited the 2010 book and focused on what I DID actually accomplish. I realized that although I didn't read 56 books that year, I still read 25 -- and that was better than not reading anything. I noticed that while I didn't get to all of the recipes I wanted to try out, I still cooked and baked a slew of new ones. I was so focused on what I didn't get done that I totally missed the things I actually accomplished. 

For 2012, I casually kept track of the new recipes I tried on a piece of paper on the fridge, wrote down the books I read in the back of my journal, and took photos of every crafty project I completed -- more out of being a pedantic record-keeper than anything else. After a while, without the 'pressure' of checking to see that I was fulfilling my quota of goals, the resolutions actually became a habit. 

While I came up with generic mottos for the year: read more, write more, walk more, eat healthier, love others -- along the way I discovered that by letting go of measuring myself, I had actually completed more -- and the 'more' was in fact better quality. 

I'm a firm believe in writing down your goals -- I don't remember who proved the theory or when, but apparently you have a much higher chance of reaching your target if you physically WRITE down your goals -- even if you never look at that piece of paper ever again. 

(This own theory has been proven in my life. During my third year at University, I wrote down a page worth of what seemed to be impossible and absurd things I wanted to do in life. Ten years later, I found that piece of paper and nearly passed out. Nearly everything except 'learn the guitar' had actually happened...)

However, I do think New Year's Resolutions are often in a special pressure-cooker category. I think sometimes we compare ourselves to others, or even our own image (past, present and what we think should be the future), so much that we forget that a resolution or goal is a process and doesn't often happen overnight. 

So we make a resolution, and by January 31st, we feel like a failure because we didn't go to the gym three times that week, or because we devoured two helpings of chocolate cake, or because we got angry with a family member. And then we throw in the towel.

The truth is, resolutions are not easy. They take time. Bear in mind that you may fall off the resolution horse. But then you get back on.

As a child, I had a pony. She wasn't the most obedient thing -- she ran away once and she used to do numerous things at horse shows to purposely embarrass me, I think. She also bucked me off several times. Each time, my mother made me climb back up on her. 

I used to believe it was so I wouldn't be scared of riding after the fall. In reality, I had to get back on my stubborn pony to show her that I was still in charge -- and that she wasn't the boss of me. 

So as you plan your New Year's Resolutions, keep that in mind. No matter what pitfalls January brings, you still have 11 months after that to climb back onto the horse. (Then again, who made the rule that you have to get it all done in 12 months?) Just because your goal book is only half full at the end of this year or even next, it doesn't mean you've failed. It simply means that some things may take a little longer -- and that's okay.

Above all else, stop comparing yourself to others. I did that for a long time -- and once I actually stopped, I saw far more potential in myself than I realized. Read that story here.  

(Of course, this is my own method for accomplishing my personal New Year's Resolutions. Maybe you have a different story -- how do you stay on track?) 

Tickled Pink

I'm tickled pink to be one of many authors on the Pyrex Collective III blog. While I cannot boast of the collections that are posted there (nor would I have the same kind of space in my kitchen!) I do love to learn more about vintage items and to see other people's marvelous thrifty finds. 

And, of course, I love to write, so I'm excited to be included on the site. 

My first post about this fabulous Pink Daisy casserole from the 1950s can be found here.   

The End of the Silence

Seven years ago I started a blog -- like Twitter today, it seemed to be the thing to do. I worked as a volunteer with an international non-profit at the time and relied upon monthly financial support to pay my fees. I posted fairly diligently on the blog so that friends, family and financial supporters could keep up with my whereabouts.

When I got married, I stopped writing on the blog and deleted the whole thing. Although I kept the domain name, I concluded my epic postings. Instead, I relied on Facebook to keep in touch with people, but even then, for a long while I felt that I needed to keep my private life sacred and well, private. The silence has lasted for several years.

It's not that I didn't have anything to say. I just wasn't sure how to say it all. My writing wasn't even the problem -- I have been crafting words my entire life. For as long as I can remember, I have also been creative, with an eye for photography, a penchant for handmade gifts, and a slight obsession with paper, scissors and glue. The thing is, I wanted to combine all of those things into something, but didn’t know how.

Then for a while, I only wanted to focus on writing. But I didn’t want to lose sight of all of the other things that make me, well, me.

Suddenly, I felt a little trapped. I had tried to separate all of my gifts into separate boxes. And while I tried to package them all into neatly tied separate categories: knitting, writing, cooking, crafting, and a whole host of others -- I seemed to lose a bit of my own identity. I compared myself with every other food blogger, knitting guru, photographer and writer out there.

The thing is -- I should never have compared myself to anyone else in the first place. 

I had been so busy trying to put everything into separate boxes, I forgot that I was the one who tied them together in the first place. I couldn't separate the things that made me, me. I needed to put the gifts all together -- in the same box -- and then leave the box open in order for those things to escape from within me.

My husband and I recently took an epic road trip to scope out some potential places to live. We have been wanting to move somewhere with a bit more of a creative vibe. I realized though, somewhere between Nashville and Austin that I didn’t necessarily need to live somewhere ‘creative’ or ‘artistic’. Creativity lies within. And it's time to share mine with the world -- no matter where I go.

So, I have decided to resurrect the blog. Starting today. Welcome to Typing Sunflowers.