The biggest question asked of me, including from myself, is "you don't have a job, so why don't you do all sorts of stuff?" My biggest excuse for letting my hobbies fall by the wayside when I was a park ranger was lack of time, and that was the truth. I rarely had time for anything, and when I did, necessity took precidence. Neccessitites like fixing food, doing laundry, and acknowledging that I did indeed have a flesh-and-blood husband, not some figment of my imagination that only manifested briefly before going to work. So now that I'm a "lady of leisure", I should have all sorts of time. Not so. There is always something that will take precidence over a hobby. Laundry needs to be done, dishes need to be washed, yard needs to be mowed, flowers weeded, chicken coop moved...and the list goes on and on. No matter how much I try, I get settled into my art room to tackle a project, and that's exactly what it feels like - yet another project to be tackled, instead of a pleasant pasttime to be enjoyed. I've come to the conclusion that the extra storage building we have MUST be converted into an art room before I can get anything done. I'm hoping that being out away from the house, in a space designated ONLY for hobbies, where I can't see the un-folded laundry, the dust bunnies, or the stacks of stuff that need to go on Ebay, I will reach a tentative "out of sight, out of mind" mentality. I will finally be able to enjoy some time.
And speaking of enjoying my time, there's another stumbling block. I've reached the conclusion that my sub-conscious doesn't think I should be enjoying my time, since I am not working at a paying job. Poor Marden is bringing home the bacon, so should I put my hobbies before work?
It's an endless battle. One that's not easily solved, and not really the real topic of this post. My REAL topic is the fact that I have added yet another iron to the fire - another hobby.
As I've talked about in the past, I've been taking fiddle lessons for a couple of months, and enjoying it immensly. I seem to be able to find the time to practice, and I think I've solved that riddle. I used to take piano lessons, and I hated practicing. With a passion. I guarantee as Mom reads this post, she is bobbing her head and rolling her eyes with fervor. I've grown up a tad since then, and even though I now enjoy practicing and love music, out of old habit my mind still sees practicing as the following equation: PRACTICING = Not Fun + Work. Therefore, I'm justified in spending time practicing the fiddle. Go figure. I probably need mental help.
That aside, fiddle lessons have opened up yet another avenue for a new hobby - making a fiddle. Yes, actually making a fiddle. My fiddle teacher has made 73 fiddles, and I have what I see as a once-in-a-lifetime chance to learn to make a fiddle from a master and living legend. While making a fiddle, a very mysterous and complicated-seeming instrument I've barely learned to play (and I've only recently successfully gotten my instrument to make pleasant tones, and not simply the burning-a-witch-at-the-stake screeches) seems like a monumental task, I actually think I can do it.
So now, every Monday, I join the fiddle-making club at Violet's house. This "club"...which I call it, consists of three people now including me. The other two students, a man and a woman both in their 50's, have been working for two years on their fiddles. I didn't find this fact very encouraging. In addition, another lady comes just to hang out. She's very nice, even though she is one of the worst things you can be - an incessent talker from Minnesota. Her voice and accent make me want to jab forks in my ears for relief. I hope I can work in this environment.
As I sat down at the kitchen table, Violet handed me a block of wood and a carving tool, and I was told to practice. So, for an hour or so, I whittled on the wood, and wondered how in the world this was going to get me a fiddle. But I remained optimistic. After another little while, I was told that I could start.
This is the beginning of my first fiddle:
I know it looks suspiciously like a dog. It's a weiner dog. This was actually a test I had to pass before beginning to make my fiddle, sort of like Mr. Myagi did on Karate Kid before he taught what's-his-name karate. Violet gave me another block of wood which had been very roughly cut out in the shape of a dog, put a pocketknife in my other hand, and said, "carve out the dog...if you can do that, you can make a fiddle." I was eager to carve the dog - not only did it have an ending point, unlike mindlessly whittling on a stick, but it took my mind off Screechy Minnesota Talker.
After finishing the dog Violet closely examined my work, proclaimed me a natural at woodcarving with a knack for being careful and paying close attention to detail (which brought thinly disguised reluctant praise from the other students), and said I was ready to start my fiddle. She rummaged around in a closet, and came out with a paint-coated piece of cherry wood that was once part of an old door, which she'd been saving for herself, but she'd like me to use it to make the back of my fiddle. I was pretty touched that she gave me the wood. I hope I don't get labeled "Teacher's Pet" by the other students - they had to buy their fiddle back wood from a supply magazine. Oops. If it sounds like I'm bragging, that's pretty much because I am.
So this is my fiddle. Or will possibly be...both are cherry wood, the one on the left wild cherry, on the right is domestic cherry. At least that's what I was told. I MUCH prefer the color and grain of the darker one on the right, but in getting it planed (thanks Brian!), and taking off the paint that coated both sides, a huge knothole was revealed. I'm going to have to consult Violet on how much of a problem this will cause. I assume it will be significant, and I'll be better off going with the lighter piece.
Wish me luck...I have a feeling I've bitten off quite a chunk with this project.
In other news, I've had quite a hankering lately for apple pie, yet I had no apples. I guess I could've bought some, but I figured sooner or later I'd encounter someone who had a full tree with fruit wasting away that I could have for free. I found that person on the local Freecycle website, and yesterday took Maggie into town to pick apples. Two hours later, two boxes and 13 Walmart sacks of apples, I was on my way home to make a pie. First I took a nap. Then, after consulting Cousin Jodie on her recipe, this is what I came up with. It was proclaimed a success by Mr. Hooter.
So what am I going to do with all those apples? In addition to a pie, I made a little dab of applesauce to see if the apples were good for that purpose. It's pretty darn good applesauce, though not as smooth as the sauce Mom and Grandma used to make from Grandpa's Yellow Transparent apple trees. I'm going to have to plant some of those. So, after I can some pie filling, applesauce, apple butter, and make some dehydrated apple rings, the rest of the haul will go to the deer.
Oh, and the Chiefs still stink. As of today, 0-3 after the Falcons handed them their butts on a platter...*sigh*...I'm going to go eat pie...
will heal, and there is a certain charm to living life without having to scoop the litterbox, picking hair off everything, cleaning up hairballs, cleaning up barf because Sam decided to yet again sample the house plants, constantly changing out water bowls because he had a strange habit of putting his food in his water, poking at it with a paw, staring at it, then walking away - and eventually meowing for fresh water, and a myriad of other chores that come with having a house cat. I don't think we'll get another house cat...at least not anytime soon.
