Update on Dreadlocks

The finished product *for now*
I also trimmed my own bangs because who needs to pay a hairdresser?
#frugal #cheap

Well, the dreads are all in. I finally got the last ones knotted up the first weekend in August, which was a huge relief.  I had been trying to get them done for two months.  I don't know if I should mark June as their birthday or August, but it will make me feel more accomplished to say June,  so I'll probably go with that.  I really thought once my husband was on summer vacation that I'd have nothing but time to sit and back comb my hair and that I'd get them done in a couple of days. But then he was off work and I just wanted to hang out with him! So we hiked a lot and went for walks or took our little one to the park. Or did some renovations. Turned out that the time I had to work on my dreads was mostly in the vehicle as we drove to places to have fun! So it took a lot longer to wrap them up than I had anticipated.

On top of Mt. Albert in Beauvais Lake Provincial Park

And now, my friends, the maintenance. I am already behind on it and as a result have some dreadlocks forming congas at the roots. As well, my hair is supa fuzzy on top. And everywhere. I did a couple hours worth of maintenance on the top/front dreadlocks because I had a wedding to attend and wanted to try to tame the beast a bit, but that was last week and today I couldn't really tell I had done anything.  I NEED to get back at it because I have just a few short weeks until I am going to seriously neglect them for months! There is a user I follow on Instagram called @wonderlocks and they posted a video on YouTube about how to deal with congas and how to prevent them.  I haven't watched it. I probably should. Instead, I just cut them apart if I can't pull them apart and use my crochet hook to try and tighten those roots up. I partly think I am doing it wrong and partly think, "What the crap. They are just big knots. How could there possibly be a wrong way to make them?" 

After all, I do what I want.

There are occasions in life I believe in taking the time to watch a YouTube video or six to learn something before you try it. Like I did before I started this whole dreadlock journey.  Or when I learned to drywall. But this is not one of those times. The few minutes it would take me to find, watch, and evaluate the usefulness of these videos is more than I am willing to spend.  I could just be doing the maintenance with that time. Or reading my kid "The Gruffalo" one more time. Or writing. Or cleaning/cooking/gardening/laundering/some other useful if tedious task required in the keeping of a household. There is a time for trolling the internet for information and there is a time to just work it out on your own.

So I am up late drafting a blog post instead of dealing with my conga situation. Late because I spent an hour scrolling through Instagram. Bah. 

*I know complaining about social media in a blog post is kind of biting the hand that feeds, but this blog makes me no money. I also know I am going to link this post on my Instagram and Facebook pages in hopes some of you friendly people out there read it, so there is also that irony, but I am going to go a head and share my struggle with the mindless scroll anyway.*

I need to also get a handle on my social media habits.  Time to trim back on the screen time and think more about my creative time, family time and necessary task time. Although in the past couple of days I have made 4 extra freezer meals swept the floors (which I do plan to wash tomorrow) and wiped down the bottom half of the kitchen walls. Thanks to no Insta' or Facebook during the day. I don't know if I'm nesting, realized I only have limited time to accomplish some of these pressing tasks, or am experiencing social media freedom, but I am grateful to have those things done. I like looking at the walls and seeing significantly less dirt streaks and fingerprints. 

Tomorrow I'll be satisfied with washing the floors, finishing the design work on an anthology project I am part of, and actually doing some work on these dreads. On top of the regular things like little kid music class and having my friend and her kids over for lunch. (UPDATE: The floors never got washed, I still need to wrap up that design work, and I finally worked on my dreads about two days after I wrote the draft of this post for about an hour. Life, my friends.)

I had better get to bed. Looks like a big day tomorrow.

Peace

Writing Prompt #16

I have been writing down the writing prompts that Lil Blue Boo has been posting on her blog, and while she is on prompt #40-something, I am way back on number 16.

Since I have been trying to think about craft and challenge when it comes to writing, I decided to tackle this one as a poem. I haven't written a poem in at least 3 years.

Prompt #16  -- Pick one word and write where it takes you:

CORNERED

KNOW-IT-ALL

SALTWATER

All life

is made of 

saltwater.

People say Adam

was made of 

dust.

But it was the

saltwater that brought

him to life.

Saltwater oozes 

from our pores

from our eyes.

Expressed from our

bodies when we 

are wounded.

Or when we 

are elated,

united.

Our first home is 

a dark sea of 

saltwater;

Where we learn 

to breathe

to dance.

At the end they 

drain the sea from

our bodies

And put us in 

the ground

to dry.

Peace

About Writing....

Journal-ling on my deck. AKA "my happy place"

I have been getting excited about writing again. To be honest, I am always excited about writing. I have an inner monologue that runs in my head as if I were constantly writing a journal entry. Some nights I lay awake and think about what I wish I was writing in my journal, but I often don't get up to write. Instead, I rationalize that I am too tired, or will need to be up with the babe soon and I should just go to sleep. I would probably be further ahead if I just got up and wrote for half an hour and then went back to bed instead of mulling it all over for an hour or two.

The elusive "sleeping baby"

Tonight, I didn't even try to lay down to sleep. I went out to a movie with some girls and had a large Coke and popcorn, so I am all jazzed up on sugar and caffeine. Not to mention all that popcorn in my pregnant body is giving me some serious heartburn. Babies take up so much room! There will be no sleeping for a little while yet. 

Since July, I have been more motivated to make an effort to write every damn day. It's a hashtag. I have been following the writing prompts of "lilblueboo's" blog and while I have only done about a dozen of them, they are a great way to get me putting pen to paper, telling stories I might never have written down and actually making me think about my craft. So far, I hadn't written anything today besides copying some recipes from the interwebs into my "make-your-own-cookbook", so this is an opportunity I will not waste. And what better way than to put up a blog post?

Writing Prompt #6 - Courtesy of lilblueboo.com

I have been working with a writing group at my local museum. The title of the group is "Family Secrets" and the goal was simply to get people writing their stories. Especially stories about family history. There are so many things in life that are lost because no one took time to do a little recording. We aren't a group who is about genealogy or chronology or even names of places. We are simply trying to tell our stories. The beauty is that as we tell our stories our histories come out in them and are recorded. We leave a legacy of ourselves and also those who have influenced us. And maybe nobody else gives a crap, but since stories are a universal glue that holds humanity together, I think someone somewhere might actually crap. Or give one. Or whatever. 

At first, I wasn't sure I was fitting in as a writer with the group. Everyone else has stories of horse drawn wagons, homesteading, and one room schoolhouses. My stories have a similar feel, as I grew up largely in a rural environment, but my stories also feature technological advances such as electricity and tend to feel more like a journal entry. (Obviously, most of my writing experience takes place merely between the coil bound covers of my journals, so besides university papers, I don't have much experience as someone who actually "writes".) It took me a little bit to realize that my stories were the same as my counterparts - even if my style was a bit different. I was writing about being a kid, growing up, funny anecdotes, relationships with parents, and the other members of the group were too. It is just that they are all 30-50 years older than me. 

Our leader, a local author named Tyler Trafford, has been extremely helpful and encouraging getting our group moving forward, getting stories down, sharing our voices. He even suggested we create an anthology of our stories to publish and will be walking us through the process. He has a great deal of knowledge and experience to share with all of us amateurs. In fact, he has really challenged me as a writer, which no one has done since my 20th Century Irish Drama class in university. That professor was an extremely tough marker, but I didn't take her grading as an invitation to improve my craft. It was merely a formula I needed to passably achieve in order to make it through her class. I learned in university that my writing ability was not necessarily magnificent, and while I have always harboured hidden hopes of one day being published for my own merits, I let my laziness and my arrogance lull me into believing that my words were somehow....a big deal. That if I bothered to write it down, it was good enough. That is the danger of only writing in a journal . The only audience is me. And I know exactly what I am trying to say. I like my writing style. I don't notice my grammatical errors. I think I am witty and entertaining and profound. That is also the beauty of just being a journal-er. No one insists I do better. No one challenges me about my craft. No one can burst my bubble.

Tyler burst my bubble. It has taken me a couple of days to grapple with it.

He is SO encouraging. He calls and leaves messages about how he and everyone enjoys my stories and that my words are so great. It has been nice having people pump my tires about writing like I did in junior high. But - He told me I do well at getting words out and once I spew it all out on paper, I get lazy. He told me my pieces were good, but if I would just invest more time and effort into them, they would be great. The elements are there. However, I need to rework them.

I want to protest. To say, "but I am so busy with a little kid in the house." I want to say, "I've never had to put so much extra effort in before." I want to say, "Aren't my words, the way I say them, enough? Aren't they already magic?"

You know what, though? He is right. It happens all the time with me. I get excited about doing something, but then I don't pursue it to my full potential. And it is OK to do that. I can't throw my whole self behind every project I take up - it isn't realistic to think that I can be fully invested in every endeavour I find interesting. Nobody can.

This is where my problem is: I have this black balloon I have been packing with me for years. It is the idea that I am kind of good at a bunch of things - but excellent at none. That there is nothing about me that makes me special. At least not in tangible gifts. My husband and I used to have this joke between us: this is Mark, (followed by a lengthy list of his accomplishments and talents), and this is his wife, Val, she's a good friend. 

The truth? I have never really put myself out there in a way that has challenged my abilities and talents. I had enough to get by - and get by pretty well - so I left it at that. Honestly, it is easier to coast through than to make myself vulnerable by really striving. That way if I fail I know I haven't really tried anyway. Super cliche and super lame, but also, ashamedly, super true. I have the potential to learn how to be excellent at writing. I have been keeping a journal fairly consistently since the 8th grade. I think that is a pretty good indicator about my passion for writing. Journal-ling is the only thing that I started in my childhood and have continued through my life. I have always wanted to write down the things I think, feel and experience. The craft of it is something that I can learn to improve on. I can learn to be an artist with my words. And you know what? Even though I am interested in trying and doing lots of things from knitting to tanning leather to pottery, I will be happy to do all of those things decently - but I want to be excellent at writing. Maybe one day I will be published for my own merits.

I guess that means I should spend some time editing this post before I put it up.

Peace.