Summer inexorably brings to mind things like running through the sprinkler, smearing aloe vera on sunburned skin, and spending lots of time outside.
Somehow, though, every summer, I find myself being drawn inside. It's not the heat that chases me indoors, or even the bugs.
It's things like these:
Ribbons. Beads. Bar pins and hair clips. Crafty things. I am powerless against the siren call of a good hot-glue gun.
During that precious time in the afternoon known as "naptime," I should be outside mowing or weeding my garden. I should be planning supper or cleaning.
Instead, I find myself spending many summer afternoons making things like these:
Hair clips and pins and other girly things for Adelaide.
I blame 4-H. It's just that time of year. I grew up spending much of my summers making crafts, cross-stitching, matching plaids, hunching over the sewing machine, and perfecting whatever cookie or food basket I thought would earn me a purple ribbon. It's almost fair-time, which means it's time to get up and do all the stuff you should have done months ago, all so that you can haul it down to the fairgrounds and spend lots of sweaty miserable hours in some un-air-conditioned barn setting up and waiting for your creations to pass in front of judges who have the power to either reward you with a purple ribbon- or a not-as-good-as-but-still-pretty-good-blue, or slap down your hard work with a red ribbon- or even worse, a white. Although I've never actually heard of anyone getting a white.
Is it sick that I kind of miss it?