Productivity is harder than one might think, especially for a girl who does too much; has her hand in too many pots. Do I work on this project or that one? What happens when I have a bit of inspiration for the project I'm not working on?
Why do I always have inspiration for the project that isn't due right now; that has no technical due date?
I try to give myself little windows of time. I know that I run in sprints of 20 minutes and two hours. Sometimes, satisfying the thing that isn't necessary right this minute for 20 minutes gives me the ability to focus for those two hours and knock something else out with a more pressing time line.
Sometimes it backfires, and I move on to another 20 minute window of something.
Regardless, it all gets done. Everything gets wrapped up in a neat little bow, and the box is ticked as complete. Eventually. 20 minutes and 2 hours at a time.
Friday, August 16, 2013
Friday, August 2, 2013
Making Things
I'm not what my office would call a "doodler."
I suppose I should qualify. I work for a hybrid advertising firm in Nampa, ID. We do everything in house; creative production, media buys, strategy. If it has to do with marketing, we do it in house, all under one roof. That's quite a bit of work, and someone has to do all the invoicing. That's my job. Okay, it's one of my jobs.
My point still stands. I'm not a "doodler."
I am, however, quite creative. I write. Not as much as I want, and I haven't written anything I actually like in quite sometime, but, I do write.
I also put things together. 3-D things. No, not clay or anything else that would be considered a sculpture. I love running fiber through my hands watching it turn in to something. Personally, spinning is my favorite. There's nothing quite like starting out with a bundle of fluff and coaxing it to a workable size and then watching the spindle on my spinning wheel gobble it up and turn it in to something useful. I like knitting too; sweaters and scarves and the like. And toys. Small little knit toys. Even before I had a kid to give them to.
Sewing is pretty great too. It's kind of like spinning; materials run through a machine to turn into something completely different. I have plans to cut and make a dress, a skirt, pants, a jacket, bags, purses, padfolios, tablet cases and covers, and, yes, toys for the little ones. Though, I really do prefer to knit those.
Lately though, I've been returning to one of my first 3-D loves: beads. As a kid, I made so many things from beads it's a bit sickening. My bead collection was one even for professional beaders to envy. I gave it away to someone at some point along the way. Seed beads were my favorite. Tiny beads and toddlers sound counter-intuitive, but, it oddly works out okay. At least, it does with my toddler. Better than spinning or knitting.
Pics or it didn't happen, right?
Soon as I'm happy with 'em. Till then, patience.
I suppose I should qualify. I work for a hybrid advertising firm in Nampa, ID. We do everything in house; creative production, media buys, strategy. If it has to do with marketing, we do it in house, all under one roof. That's quite a bit of work, and someone has to do all the invoicing. That's my job. Okay, it's one of my jobs.
My point still stands. I'm not a "doodler."
I am, however, quite creative. I write. Not as much as I want, and I haven't written anything I actually like in quite sometime, but, I do write.
I also put things together. 3-D things. No, not clay or anything else that would be considered a sculpture. I love running fiber through my hands watching it turn in to something. Personally, spinning is my favorite. There's nothing quite like starting out with a bundle of fluff and coaxing it to a workable size and then watching the spindle on my spinning wheel gobble it up and turn it in to something useful. I like knitting too; sweaters and scarves and the like. And toys. Small little knit toys. Even before I had a kid to give them to.
Sewing is pretty great too. It's kind of like spinning; materials run through a machine to turn into something completely different. I have plans to cut and make a dress, a skirt, pants, a jacket, bags, purses, padfolios, tablet cases and covers, and, yes, toys for the little ones. Though, I really do prefer to knit those.
Lately though, I've been returning to one of my first 3-D loves: beads. As a kid, I made so many things from beads it's a bit sickening. My bead collection was one even for professional beaders to envy. I gave it away to someone at some point along the way. Seed beads were my favorite. Tiny beads and toddlers sound counter-intuitive, but, it oddly works out okay. At least, it does with my toddler. Better than spinning or knitting.
Pics or it didn't happen, right?
Soon as I'm happy with 'em. Till then, patience.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Hello, Arcata
Graduating is great. I have a piece of paper that validates me as an adult. I also got to go on a trip; a return to a place I once called home: Arcata, CA.
I left the small city of hills and forest for Boise, ID to be with my now-husband Sam. As much as I love the City of Trees, leaving Arcata left a small hole in my heart. I've missed the giant trees and the salt in the air. Taking the ocean out of my life was difficult. So, graduation gift: travel to the coast.
So, my husband and I packed up the truck full of clothes and toys, gently shoved our two year old in his seat, and embarked on a projected 13 hour long road trip. A potty training 2 year old and 13 hours in the car? Sounds like a great idea, doesn't it?
(Spoiler: we were two hours off on our expected travel time. The trip, however, really was pretty darn great. On the road at 6:30 am and only a half an hour behind schedule.)
A fairly grueling 5.5 hours to Winnemucca, and we stopped for lunch. There's a lovely park by a museum that we've stopped at on road trips before the kid. We thought it would be a pretty good place to stop with. The park was empty when we arrived, but quickly populated by a family with a van and children of all ages and an old man with a dog and cigarettes. We ate our lunch accompanied by the perfume of nicotine and the screams of children other than our own, took the kid to the playground, loaded up, and got back on the road.
Next stop: Fernley, just before heading north again to Susanville. Jack-in-the-Box treated us fairly well with clean restrooms, hot food, and data service. We downloaded more music. The middle of nowhere had gotten awfully dull with only three play lists. There's the naivete of the modern world: you expect cell service and data, but, it just doesn't always happen.
More gas in Susanville, a quick stretch of the legs, and back on the road. It wasn't until here that the two year old started getting fed up with the drive. Toys and cows and nori snacks satiated him though. And we pushed on.
Subway in Redding and then back on the road. The husband had driven the entire time thus far. His shoulder was done for and his mind shot. I took the wheel to go up and over the last four hills.
Okay, they're not hills so much as they are mountains. An older, narrow mountain road with switchbacks and steep grades. I'd driven it countless times when I was younger and going to HSU. Day, night, sleet, snow, rain, and even sun. Never in a car as nice as my husband's Dodge Dakota. I had a '78 Volkswagon Westfalia (mine was brown and much more beat up) and an '87 Honda Civic when I drove the 299 before. Up and over Buckhorn, the biggest hill, and the dirt started to change a bit. It lost some of the red and started gaining the darker, more familiar color of Humboldt County. Whiskeytown is a slow drive. Though the miles are few, they last forever. Oregon Mountain is smaller and much more manageable than the notorious Buckhorn. And here the scent hit me. Pine resin started disappearing and the earth started taking over. I looked at my husband and said, "It smells like home."
Berry Summit is next to nothing. It's Lord Ellis that I hate. That last climb up is completed with a peak at the ocean and the full earth, ocean, and mold Humboldt County perfume, and followed by a slope down with switch back and hard turns that curve around the mountain every which way. A bit much for this coastal girl, but with a huge reward at the end. A place where limits are stretched and comfort is found. A place with fog-ripened tomatoes and home grown cheese around every corner. A place where the trees are taller than the sky and the people say hello.
Hello, Arcata. It's been a while.
I left the small city of hills and forest for Boise, ID to be with my now-husband Sam. As much as I love the City of Trees, leaving Arcata left a small hole in my heart. I've missed the giant trees and the salt in the air. Taking the ocean out of my life was difficult. So, graduation gift: travel to the coast.
So, my husband and I packed up the truck full of clothes and toys, gently shoved our two year old in his seat, and embarked on a projected 13 hour long road trip. A potty training 2 year old and 13 hours in the car? Sounds like a great idea, doesn't it?
(Spoiler: we were two hours off on our expected travel time. The trip, however, really was pretty darn great. On the road at 6:30 am and only a half an hour behind schedule.)
A fairly grueling 5.5 hours to Winnemucca, and we stopped for lunch. There's a lovely park by a museum that we've stopped at on road trips before the kid. We thought it would be a pretty good place to stop with. The park was empty when we arrived, but quickly populated by a family with a van and children of all ages and an old man with a dog and cigarettes. We ate our lunch accompanied by the perfume of nicotine and the screams of children other than our own, took the kid to the playground, loaded up, and got back on the road.
Next stop: Fernley, just before heading north again to Susanville. Jack-in-the-Box treated us fairly well with clean restrooms, hot food, and data service. We downloaded more music. The middle of nowhere had gotten awfully dull with only three play lists. There's the naivete of the modern world: you expect cell service and data, but, it just doesn't always happen.
More gas in Susanville, a quick stretch of the legs, and back on the road. It wasn't until here that the two year old started getting fed up with the drive. Toys and cows and nori snacks satiated him though. And we pushed on.
Subway in Redding and then back on the road. The husband had driven the entire time thus far. His shoulder was done for and his mind shot. I took the wheel to go up and over the last four hills.
Okay, they're not hills so much as they are mountains. An older, narrow mountain road with switchbacks and steep grades. I'd driven it countless times when I was younger and going to HSU. Day, night, sleet, snow, rain, and even sun. Never in a car as nice as my husband's Dodge Dakota. I had a '78 Volkswagon Westfalia (mine was brown and much more beat up) and an '87 Honda Civic when I drove the 299 before. Up and over Buckhorn, the biggest hill, and the dirt started to change a bit. It lost some of the red and started gaining the darker, more familiar color of Humboldt County. Whiskeytown is a slow drive. Though the miles are few, they last forever. Oregon Mountain is smaller and much more manageable than the notorious Buckhorn. And here the scent hit me. Pine resin started disappearing and the earth started taking over. I looked at my husband and said, "It smells like home."
Berry Summit is next to nothing. It's Lord Ellis that I hate. That last climb up is completed with a peak at the ocean and the full earth, ocean, and mold Humboldt County perfume, and followed by a slope down with switch back and hard turns that curve around the mountain every which way. A bit much for this coastal girl, but with a huge reward at the end. A place where limits are stretched and comfort is found. A place with fog-ripened tomatoes and home grown cheese around every corner. A place where the trees are taller than the sky and the people say hello.
Hello, Arcata. It's been a while.
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