The Ebb and Flow of Creative Juices

I’m currently reading The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon. First and foremost, let me just say that I love this book and would highly recommend it. In short, it’s the story of two cousins- one from New York, the other from Prague, both Jewish- and their success as pioneers in the comic book industry in America during WWII. For those that are not at all interested in comic books, I assure you this book is still fascinating and well worth reading.

The other night I was reading and came to a line that I just loved and that so resonated with me. It’s a scene early on in the book, while the main characters are still just young boys dreaming of creating their own comic book. One character, Joe, had just masterfully scaled the fire escape of an empty New York apartment building, and his cousin looked on…

"As he watched Joe stand, blazing, on the fire escape, Sammy felt an ache in his chest that turned out to be, as so often occurs when memory and desire conjoin with a transient effect of weather, the pang of creation. "

I love that line. I love it because I so understand it. I know that pang and that ache in my chest to simply create. I think this is a God-given desire, regardless of the gifts or talents He has given us. I fully believe that he has fashioned us after His own heart, and that His heart is the heart of a true Creator.

Whatever our ability may be, we all possess the desire to create. One person may make music, while another can capture a blazing sunset within the confines of a painted canvas. One person can produce ideas and methods that push the flow of business, while another person can cultivate a warm and welcoming environment that invites the cold and hungry. One may master a pencil and sketchpad; another may master the kitchen and culinary world. This world is full of thinkers and writers and visionaries and inventors and crafters and dreamers, and regardless of what means we utilize, our end is always a creation of sorts.

Lately I've really been feeling that pang- that ache to use any and all the gifts God gave me and just make something of it. I want a job that I enjoy and that provides me an outlet for my passions (don't we all). I want to draw or write or paint. I want to scrapbook; I want to blog; I want to write a novel. I want to be a published children's book illustrator. I want to learn to cook, and I want to make something worthy of selling in a Christmas craft fair. My problem is that I want to do them all, I want to do them well, and I want to do them simultaneously. The end result is this spewing volcano of creative desire that will probably erupt into one solid week of hibernating and trying to accomplish all at once, followed by an extremely deflated and exhausted me that is devoid of any creative inclinations whatsoever.

Anyone else out there go through these same cycles, or is it just me?

Does Anyone Else Think This Is Funny?

Ok, so normally I really try to avoid using things like WebMD as it tends to cause me unreasonable amounts of paranoia. One moment I'm experiencing mild cold symptoms, the next I'm convinced that I've contracted some rare form of Mongolian baht fly virus, mad cow disease, or any other number of ailments containing an animal name prefix and an -itis suffix. However the other night at work I couldn't resist doing a little research on some worrisome symptoms my friend was experiencing.

For those not familiar with WebMD, allow me to provide a brief overview... After clicking on the pale little man labeled "symptom checker", you're directed to click on the specific portion of your body that is giving you trouble. It then proceeds to present you with a ridiculously long list of possible symptoms (most of which will make you feel much better, by comparison, about your current complaint or illness). While you scan the list and select all symptoms that apply to you, WebMD compiles a list of all possible diseases, syndromes, disorders, etc. However some of the symptoms you select will then prompt you to provide a more in depth description. The following screenshot is one I came across the other night:

In case that's a little too hard to read, that does in fact say "encounter with an octopus in the south Pacific".

On a side note- my friend went to the real doctor a few days later and found that she has neither Mongolian baht fly virus nor mad cow disease. She's feeling much better, in fact.

A Word About Daylight Savings

I used to love the “Fall Back” time of year. Seriously, what’s not to love?

Here’s what’s not to love:

Clocks go back an hour at 2:00am. I work an 8-hour swing shift that ends at 2:00am. Therefore, as I sat here tonight nearing the end of my shift and watching that final minute pass from 1:59 to 2:00-- the minute that generally signals my freedom and all-around happiness-- something terrible happened instead. I have never felt as defeated as when I witnessed 1:59am become 1:00am. I imagine this may be what Hell is like (this, and also an eternity of trying to match Tupperware lids to their proper bowls).

I used to hate “Spring Forward” day. Oh how I miss those days…

As Visions of Pez Candies Danced Through My Head

In light of the this fine Halloween day today, I thought I’d retell the story of one of my favorite Halloweens yet- made great by two of my favorite people ever.

Several years ago- I think my sophomore year of high school- my friend, Tara, and I decided to get really ambitious and make our own Halloween costumes. I think both Tara and I would fall into the category of “over-achievers, primarily in regards to projects that others may find futile and, quite frankly, a waste of time”. This can be made evident by our endless note passing games that we passed the time in class with: the time we tried to write solely in Spanish to each other (for months), the time we tried to write solely with our non-dominant hands to each other (for months), the time we refused to write to each other in any thing other than an intricate and painstaking calligraphy-type font (for months). One may look at our overflowing notebook that is a product the above discipline and think it a profound waste of time. But what can I say… we can now write in shaky, calligraphy-style, poor Spanish with the best of 'em, and I say that is something to be proud of.

Wow, that was quite the tangent.

So anyway, this one October way back when and once upon a sophomore year, Tara and I decided to make our own costumes. After deliberating over the wide array of options before us, we finally decided on the perfect idea. Pez Dispensers. Life-size, walking, talking Pez Dispensers. We went to work, and probably spent a good solid month developing and executing our plan. Being only poor high school students, we were resourceful as possible and completed our project using only felt, poster board, glue, and a few wire hangers. I tried to find the actual photos of our finished masterpieces, but unfortunately came up empty handed. So, without further ado, I present to you my best rendering from memory…

I can’t remember if we wore them to school or not. Did we, Tara? I do, however, remember winning first place in our youth group’s costume contest. Yep, there’s my proudest achievement to-date.

For some reason Tara wasn’t able to go trick-or-treating with us that year, but I did get to go with my other favorite person, Annabel (yes, I went trick-or-treating my sophomore year of high school). Annabel didn’t have a costume prior to that day, so we had to come up with her spontaneous and impromptu attire. Apparently the creative juices just weren’t flowing with much intensity that night, because this is what we came up with…

She was a sleeping bag. Which we accomplished by wrapping her in a sleeping bag. And that is all.

We set off on our merry journey, but VERY quickly discovered the error of our way. You see, neither of our costumes allowed much room for the simple act of walking. So we waddled. Slowly. After an exhausting hour of work, we had only waddled the length of one street. And to make matters worse, people kept mistaking my Pez Dispenser for a mail box (which I still don’t see. I’ve included a head-on sketch of the mask, so you can judge for yourself), and throwing candy in my eye hole… at which point I would have to stop and shimmy it down and out my foot hole, so that Annabel could kindly pick it up for me.

Finally, we decided to give up and head home so we could change out of our cumbersome costumes. Neither of us were quite satisfied with our night’s earnings though, so we resolved to head back out. This time we dressed as ourselves and told people we were Christians. Lame cover, I know.

So… to Tara and Annabel- if you’re reading this- thanks for being so amazing. I think we should all three spend the next year planning an even better costume for Halloween ’09 :)

Blunders from the Cubicle

It occurred to me the other day that I have been unfair and quite biased in my previous posts pertaining to my job (refer here and here). The picture I have painted has been one extremely skewed image, in which I am portrayed as the faultless, all-knowing voice on the opposite end of a phone line connecting directly to a world of buffoons and drunkards. I am not refuting the fact that, yes, my phone line does connect to a world that contains a shocking number of buffoons and drunkards. But in all fairness, I must admit to another side of the story: I too am a buffoon (but usually not a drunkard).

Evidence Profile #1: The Mute Button

Our phones come with a feature that I find myself both praising and cursing several times each day. The mute button is a simple little button within easy reach that, upon pressing, mutes my end of the line while still allowing me to hear my caller. It’s intended purpose is mostly for sparing the caller from hearing your sneezes or similar interruptions that are not worthy of using the “hold” button for. Most reps also use it when they can’t resist the urge to verbalize their rage towards the caller without the caller actually hearing them.

Several times each day I answer my phone while it is muted and can’t figure out why the caller isn’t responding to my greeting. More than once I have tried to mute my call for the purpose of verbalizing said rage, and not realized that I missed the button. And in one awkward moment, I once muted my phone to cover an urgent and fearsome sneeze- except I had forgotten that I was already muted. On the caller’s end, it probably sounded something like this… “>dead silence, dead silence, dead silence< BOOMING SNEEZE >dead silence, dead silence, dead silence <”. Awesome.

Evidence Profile #2: Ruined by Routine:

We don’t really have scripts to go by in my job, but we deal with enough of the same situations that sometimes things just become scripted. For example, after activating a card for someone, I usually advise them to “sign the back and it’s ready for use”. Similarly, after reporting a card lost, I would advise them to “please contact your bank to order a new card”. I wish I had a dollar for every time I finish reporting a card lost for someone, and then promptly advise them to sign the back of it and begin using it.

Another dilemma…we make both outbound and inbound phone calls. On a normal day, you will do primarily one or the other, but not both. However, if need requires it, sometimes a supervisor will ask you to switch from what you have been working for 5 hours and do the opposite. This is a cruel, despicable trick. I should add here that our phones do not ring for incoming calls, they simply beep into your headset. The beep sounds identical to that of an answering machine. I have left many strangers voicemails on their home phones that sounded much like this… “Thank you for calling >unidentified credit card company<, how may I help…ummm… aww man… *click*” (Before you judge me, know that I always call them back. But there comes a point where you just can’t recover from a failed script and have no other option but to abort.)

Evidence Profile #3: Well, just read on…

Ok, so this one didn’t happen in the cubicle, but it serves to prove the same point. I had to call my cell phone provider yesterday with questions concerning my bill. After a lengthy call in which all my concerns were addressed, our conversation neared its end. It went something like this:
Cell Phone Rep: Ok, so just to review your call today, I have updated this, that, and blah blah blah…
Me: Yep, sounds perfect
Cell Phone Rep: Ok… (short pause, I assume they were making notes)
Me: And is there anything else I can help you with today?
Cell Phone Rep: …excuse me...?
insert awkward pause
Me: ok, sorry. Thanks, bye… *click*

And to think, I don’t even have the excuse of alcohol to blame.

Corn and More Corn

Is any one else about to burst with seasonal joy, or is that just me?

Honestly, I don’t know how any one can justify living anywhere but here. My only wish is that the changing leaves would stay around just a little while longer. I love waking up in the mornings and being surprised at the cool chill of morning air that you haven’t felt for months. Or taking a walk outside and smelling the faint aroma of fire places being used for the first time. Or watching a hazy sunset over mountains that somehow formed a blanket of snow over night. Yeah, you can’t get much better than this.

But, you can certainly appreciate it all the more by taking in the view from the middle of a corn field.

We spent one amazing day this week at the Fritzler Corn Maize. It was way too much fun. I would definitely recommend this to any one in the Denver area looking for a fun family outing. We got to do two corn mazes, launch a corn canon, jump on an over-sized trampoline pillow, ride a barrel train roller coaster, sport 3-D glasses through a house of jumping paintings, and wander through the insides of a giant inflatable lizard. The prices were very reasonable, and I definitely felt like we more than got our money’s worth.

Ode to Old Man

While looking through and organizing some of the random photos that I have saved to my computer the other day, I came across a picture of someone very dear to me; someone that I felt deserved his own post.

This is Old Man Baby (but those closest to him often call him Old Man).

And this is his story…

Several years ago I decided, on a whim, that I wanted to start collecting garden gnomes. My collection had grown to about 7 or 8 by the time I took my trip to Romania in 2005. I was elated to find that Romania has some sort of infatuation with garden gnomes, as they could be found in any and every gift or souvenir shop (garden gnomes and Dracula… yep, that’s Romania in a nutshell). After much debate and consideration, I settled on the above pictured gnome to take home with me. I named him Sebastian, after the little boy who had stolen my heart, and whom I would have much rather taken home with me.

Upon arriving home (I was living at my parents’ house at the time), Sebastian assumed his position on the mantle of my parents’ fireplace. One day my sister was over at the house with her two beautiful daughters, Aubri and Rylynn. Aubri took an instant interest in this new addition to my collection, and began toting him around the house with her. (Sebastian is actually made out of a lightweight, rubbery material, rather than the heavy plaster most are made from.)

Aubri already had a few baby dolls that she adored, each with their own names to tell them apart. I don’t remember the exact names, but she referred to each one as “Baby Julia” or “Baby Sarah” or whatever their respective names were. Naturally, Sebastian became “Old Man Baby”. When it was time for her to go home that night, she very sweetly asked me if she could take Old Man home with her. I, of course, said yes. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

From that day forward, she grew more and more attached to Old Man, taking him with her everywhere she went. One day I received a phone call from her asking if she could take him with her to the sand dunes. Thus began the tradition of Old Man accompanying the family on every trip or vacation. When Meghan took the girls for their annual professional photo shoot, Aubri insisted Old Man be in them too. And so he was. I got to experience a little taste of the odd looks that Meghan must get all the time as we walked through the mall that day with a garden gnome buckled into the front of our double stroller.

Old Man has become a staple in the family, and a common sight at any gathering. One night we were all hanging out to play cards at my parents’ house. We had spent the whole night around the kitchen table, and the girls had been in bed for hours, when someone finally noticed that Old Man had been sitting with us at the table the whole time, securely strapped into a high chair with a snack and a drink in front of him. (It has also been realized that there are more photos of Old Man in the family than there are of some of the rest of us).

There’s a quote from an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond that always makes me smile, and turns my thoughts towards Old Man; “Sometimes I forget how weird this family is, until someone new comes in and looks at us like that."

Although it’s been nearly 3 years since their first meeting, Aubri and Old Man are still great friends. Last year she honored him with the utmost symbol of flattery by insisting to dress up as him for Halloween (the costume is the handiwork of Meghan and my mom, as not many party stores offer Old Man Baby costumes among their line of merchandise).

Who wouldn’t want these two for their garden?!