CURRENT OBSESSION(s)

Woodcarving

I don't know where the inspiration came from for carving wood, but it took six months to actually do it.

It is not easy.  It is fun.

Here is my first block of wood:

It is basswood.  I bought it at Michael's craft store even though my back yard is full of branches...

Here is what I did with it:

I under-painted her with a scarlet acrylic, then rubbed her down with a gold wax.

Beekeeping

I haven't done anything with this obsession (yet) except read extensively about it.  I did talk to a friend in my city's zoning department, and he said there were no laws prohibiting keeping bees in the back yard.  The reason I haven't rushed right out to buy hives, helmet, bees, and queen is because I'm worried the bees won't have enough pollen to feast on.  This is the suburbs after all -- lots of grass.  The real reason is because I'm too scared to do this on my own. I need to bee someone's apprentice for at least a year

BTW, my name means honeybee in Greek.

About Melissa 

Many years ago (most of) this happened...

When she was seven, Melissa Mary slept in her upstairs, pine-paneled room with lots of closets and corners. Sometimes she was afraid up there; most times it was her refuge, safe and familiar. One morning she woke up itchy; tiny bumps swelled on both of her hands. She scratched and itched and went downstairs to ask her mother, who knew everything, what the bumps could be.

Her mother glanced at both hands, both sides and said, simply, "Spider bites."

Melissa Mary felt sick. In her imagination she saw hundreds, no thousands of tiny pale spiders scrambling over her hands at night. Biting.

"It was probably one spider," her mother clarified, "trying to get out from under your little hands."

This explanation calmed Melissa Mary. A little. And then she tucked it away in the back of her mind.

"My hands feel hungry," she thought. "Isn’t there anything I can do?"

So her grandmother showed Melissa Mary the secrets of embroidery. She loved the word so much that she stitched it seven times on a piece of muslin using seven different stitches in seven different colors. "My hands are full," thought Melissa Mary.

Then the girls of the neighborhood had a knitting bee. They practiced the art of knit one, purl two. Melissa Mary made a scarf: short and lopsided.

As she grew older, her mother helped Melissa Mary study sewing. Making sleeves gave her the most pleasure; the long number six machine stitches that gathered when she pulled the ends and eased nicely between the pointed notches. After awhile, she did not need to use a pattern; she understood how things were put together.

Eventually, she grew up and had to find work. Her hands found other things to do: interpret theater in sign language, teach English to immigrants, write technical and instructional manuals. She worked in a school, theatre, library, factory, and bank.

One morning, years after her house was full of wonderful beings: husband, Bill (BillyO when he’s feeling rascally) and four large cats, Melissa Mary woke up itchy. There they were -- tiny bumps that swelled up on both of her hands.

"I’d forgotten who I was," thought Melissa Mary. She jumped out of bed, scratching and itching her hands as she dressed. She found a swatch of fabric packed way in the back of her closet and gathered up her needles and thread. Her sewing machine was old, but solid and strong.

And finally, Melissa Mary’s hands became full and satisfied with a creation of a doll.