Dado builds things. Boats and racks, buildings, and trailers, and table tops. Never for a living, just for the feeling of an old hammer in a callused hand, for the immense pleasure of creating something from nothing all on one’s own. My sister’s followed suit. She’s smitten with the jigsaw and dapper with the drill press. Meanwhile I inherited his curls, and his spirit, and I inherited that tendency with a something of a twist. I build art. Not often, and for nobody but me. I am not an artist, I just flirt with those inclinations. I want to twist and contort metal, I want to build a memory and a palette through a lens and a scene, I want to play with color. And some days I do. In an old box, in the back of a void there are a few pieces I really like, but I can never seem to make it happen. The beauty either finds me or it doesn’t.

Lately writing fills the void – a personal insight, a diatribe from my soul, a tangible passion poured onto page. Built from scratch, just words from letters and sentences from that.  So this is take two. No pressure, probably not every day. I clearly wasn’t up to that. Things may look different this time around. I’m going to try to throw in some color, but I’ll start by just reintroducing my hands to the keys. Callused though they are from all the work. But this is a promise to try, to restore balance, to invite art into the rhythm of my day.  Because there is something immensely satisfying about building something from nothing. Be it words or wood, the pleasure I derive from a few moments to think and create brings more comfort than a warm mug around which to wrap my hands – and the combination thereof is so so sweet.

Dado can’t muster the creativity either. He can’t just finish any project he starts, and so sometimes it takes weeks or months, but often years. It’s slow coming, waiting for the combination of time and inspiration. I hadn’t planned on taking a break from this project, but one day I woke up and I didn’t write and the then all the sudden I hadn’t written in months. Winter happened in between. The snow fell and the buses slipped and skiing happened, and so did the holidays. Now the flowers have bloomed and with the tulips and the sunshine I’m sneaking out of hibernation and forgiving myself the time away.

So here I am, back at the beginning. Trying to try again. Maybe someday someone will read it, maybe someday my words will find their way to the glossy pages of a magazine or be bound between two covers. One can only hope. But I have to start somewhere, so this is me starting all over again. Take two. Thanks for your patience.