Since the first moment that I became aware that I could make things with my hands, I have been a maker. I suppose I come to it naturally, as my mother taught me to cook, sew and crochet. My Dad was a very creative man as well, including possessing the gift of being able to fix anything…and I do mean Anything, with a piece of baling wire. They both taught me to think outside the box and taught my sisters and I that there was nothing we couldn’t do if we set our minds toward a goal and worked hard to get there.

There was a time when I assumed that everyone possessed the uncontrollable urge to make things, fix things and just generally figure out how things work. Sadly, this is not the case. I have now come to realize that the world is made up of makers and non-makers. I say sadly, because the non-makers will never know the joy of losing themselves in the creative process. There is a kind of time warp that seems to happen when I am creating. Making gives me a break from the day to day, relieves stress and, for me anyway, is a self-propagating process. Creativity begets more creativity.

Why do I make? Because I don’t know how not to make. I don’t know how not to look at a skein of yarn and imagine all the things I could make. I can’t look at a beat up piece of furniture without imagining all the ways I can spiffy it up. As a gardener, my favorite part is the harvest and figuring out what to make with all the fresh produce. There is not one thing I look at without somehow re-imagining it in some fashion. Making is in my blood. Thank you to all of you who have hopped on board for this blog train as I explore how I am going to reimagine my life, as I make life DIY.

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