Saturday, September 3, 2016

May I Ask Who's Speaking?

          That this question was asked by me of me is - if nothing else - a justification for the title of this Blog.  I was in Barnes and Noble the other day on a specific mission - buy a basic but extensive book on sewing.  I'm not doing much with my mind lately, so I had decided to revive a craftamused myself with as a newlywed.
       Money being at a minimum, I'd decided to start by taking down drapes and using the material to recover our "House-Anything-But-Beautiful" black vinyl dining room chair seats.  I learned that all chair seats are 17 inches deep, had enough material, discovered the wonders of a staple gun and the chairs looked 'WOW'.
       At the time, the Navy had assigned us to Norfolk.  Hubby had been 'star-gaze' happy because after finishing Officers' Training School, the brand new Lt. Doctor had visions of using his surgical training on the floating hospital, The Hope.  (1969)  The Navy thought otherwise, pulled The Hope and gave 'glum-chum' Lt. Doctor and his Mrs. and baby son orders to report to Norfolk prior to embarking in 3 weeks to the Indian Ocean for 11 months with a fleet of destroyers going on a 'peace-keeping' mission.
       He was assigned to the flagship, the Harold J. Ellison under the command of a Commodore. (I thought the last one was Perry).  He'd be bunking with the ship's pastor.
       The enmity between the two began on day one as the fleet was being laded with 'good will' goodies for all ports of call.  Lt. Doc laded the English complete encyclopedia into his car (destined for a non-English-speaking nation) along with a pair of slolums earmarked for non-motor boat possessed Madagascar but less wasteful for building bookshelves for new sets of encyclopedia.
       Said enmity progressed on a steady course sparked by the numerous bartered purchases from carvings to carpets accumulated by the good Lt. Doctor. 
       Back at the 'ranch' oftownhouses reserved for officers, having wanly waived a wet fairwell to her spouse, the Mrs. and 9 month-old son set about writing to Lt. Daddy every day (Philip's missives often on the wall), and redecorating - at times to mask his messages -.
       With my staple gun fast becoming my new best friend, I took advantage of a White Sale at Sears, rushing home with my heavily-discounted two sets of lime green and yellow plaid single bedspreads and matching shams, using one for his 'big boy' bed transition and stapling the other on one of the walls.  
       I planned to use the extra sham - glued to a cheap white shade - but in the interim, cut a long, blue and white gingham robe in half and 'styled' it over a rod.  Perfect length to the sill.   I didn't notice the pocket facing the street side of the window.   Three other new Navy wives did, though, and took several weeks to decide which of them would play 'point-out-the-pocket'.  By then, my respectable, co-ordinating shade was hung and I was ahead 2 to 1 in the enmity department.
            Fast-forward to 2016, Barnes and Noble, new sewing book and while hunting for a sewing magazine in the 'self-improvement' section, I was distracted (terrible ADHD.  You've noticed.) by a magazine I'd never seen  and was certain it was an ill-fated blunder.   There was "Artful Blogging" and I had to have it to be certain I haven't been writing 'white-pockets-facing-the-street' metaphorically for lo these many years.
       I found my answer on page 19.   A successful, known blogger, discussing her various ploys to avoid dry cycles when creativity eludes her (like writers block when the people in your head stop talking to each other), "takes time off from social media" because ". . .it's too easy to look at other people's work in search of that elusive spark that can re-kindle creativity".
       Whew! My literary window treatments are winners by that standard.   I can't even find my page on Facebook much less an "elusive literary spark".  
       And as for successful bloggers, I say, "Whatever Floats Your Boat".  In 1971, when the fleet returned,  the Commodore was set with every test performed by Drs. Jellyfingers, the Lt. Doctor was now First Lt. Doctor having been high-lined to another destroyer to perform a life-saving appendectomy on a seaman (apparently the Commodore wasn't so lucky and got dunked), and in 2016 I may not be a successful, well-known blogger but I'm never lackingbat least three simultaneous conversations going on in my head.
Later, Lorane. . . . .
       
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