The Dabbler

I am a dabbler.

Where my husband tends to obsessively focus on a single thing, such as Lord of the Rings, and collects as many items in that category as possible until our house cannot take one more limited edition Frodo, I tend to indulge a little here, a little there.

First there was crochet. I have lots of books on crochet. I was interested enough to learn how to do a granny square, and I went on to create the most ugly afghan in the entire world, but it took me three years.  I lost interest.  Then came cross-stitch, which was fun for a bit; several cross-stitch books are on my shelves I've tried knitting, and needlepoint, but I really wasn't interested enough to complete a finished product. The books, however, were quite lovely.

There was my woodworking phase, which lasted about as long as it took me to realize that smashed thumbs really hurt. I only bought one book for that hobby, and it was on first aid.  My sewing phase ended when I broke three needles in my mother's sewing machine and was banned for life.  I ended up giving those books to Goodwill.  A brief interlude with cooking ended with my mom's kitchen in disarray, resulting in another banishment.  My vast collection of cookbooks are gathering dust.

Photography has been another hobby of mine.  I have a special camera that lets me take photos of moving objects, specifically purchased along with several books on photography.  The special camera is specifically for my son, who never stops moving long enough to sit still for a photo.  I thought about buying a special telephoto lens for the camera as well, so I can take pictures at soccer games, but I know that I will need at least one extra book to tell me how to use it.

Currently I am dabbling in jewelry making.  I've followed my usual pattern to the letter.  I saw a person wearing earrings, and I said to myself, "I can do that." That's it. That's all it takes for me to hit the starting line--the idea that I can do that.  Of course, the idea that I can do a particular craft inevitably  leads me to my very favorite place on the planet--a bookstore. I browsed for hours, leaving the store with several books on jewelry making.  Then I ran off to the hobby store to spend more hours browsing the jewelry making section.  Everything catches my eye, of course, and I left the store with a couple hundred spent in beads and the fixings for making jewelry.  My husband rolled his eyes at my purchases.

"I don't want to hear it, Mr. "I have 470 statues of Gandalf" and the sword of Elendil," I told him.

I brought all my purchases home, selected a special corner of the house and set everything up.  Then I read all of the books, and I got started. By got started, I mean that I spent the rest of the day organizing all my beads by color, just like I do with my gummi bears. Then I read my books some more. 

Two weeks later, I finally got around to trying some of what the books were talking about, and I made a bracelet.  It promptly fell apart, because I accidentally skipped the part in the instructions that dealt with that.  So I read the book again, and then purchased some more books on jewelry making.  Along the way I realized something about myself.

Books are really my hobby. 




A hobby you would pursue if you were the type to pursue hobbies.

A Geologist is Born?

My child loves rocks right now.  The boy sees a rock, he picks it up.  He looks at it.  He shows it to us, and we look at it.  Then Zane puts the rock into his pocket, and it comes home with him, where it used to be surreptiously tossed outside.   Unfortunately, the boy caught on to my rock tossing, and I was told under no uncertain terms that those were HIS rocks.  I tried telling him that rocks belong outside, but this did not compute.  Finally I told him that no rocks were allowed inside the house until they had a bath first. I thought this would stall him for a bit, until I found him outside with the hose, cleaning his rocks.  I had to admire his tenacity, since apparently that trait is genetic.   
 
There was a time when Zane loved trains.  Loved them.  He would sit for hours playing with his trains.  He'd line them up, one after the other, all along the front of the entertainment center, or along the lines of the tile in the kitchen.  We bought him a train table, thinking that he would like that better, but he didn't.  He didn't want to go round and round. Lining up the trains suited him best, so we finally just left him to it. We read books about trains, and found some YouTube videos of trains. We visited the Texas Transportation Museum, where they have lots of little trains to watch. We even took him to Grapevine, Texas to ride an actual steam train.  Zane enjoyed all of these, but then one day he wasn't all that interested in trains anymore, which was great, since we were running out of train activities.  Zane found a new hobby.

These rocks were in my purse!

Zane has found some interesting rocks, including a few that he calls his "dinosaur teeth".  I've asked him on several occasions why he likes rocks.  Is it a sensory thing?  I enjoy holding flat stones in my palm because of their shape, but  Zane doesn't seem partial to a particular kind of rock.  He's got flat stones, round rocks, chunks, and flints.  I'd like to be able to tell him about the rocks he's found, except that all I remember from my Earth Science classes in high school is the word 'igneous'.  I probably should have paid more attention. 

Since school started, Zane has been bringing rocks home in his back pack.  Not just one or two--Dozens.  I could pave a driveway with the rocks that we now have in a box in the pantry.  I've tried to take the rocks back to his school.  Zane's behavior is stealing, after all.  I placed all of the little rocks that I could back into his backpack while he was asleep.  The next morning, I hauled all those rocks back to school and when I brought Zane to his homeroom, I spoke to the teacher's aide about it.

Me: "Uh, I don't know if you've noticed, but Zane has been collecting rocks during recess. He has half of your playground rocks in his backpack.  You probably want those back?"
Teacher's Aide:  "Okay."

The rocks came back home that evening. I sent them back the next day.  They came back.  This went on for about a week, and then I made an executive decision and threw all the little rocks out into the garden. If the school doesn't care that their playground is bereft of gravel, why should I?  I kept a bunch of the big rocks.  I also went out and bought a book about rocks, and one of those activity kits from the Smithsonian where you chisel rocks out of a brick of plaster. If you can't beat them, join them.   Who knows?  Perhaps his interest in rocks will lead him to a career in geology, or more likely, he'll learn all he wants to know about rocks and then he'll be on to the next hobby.