"Mr DePinna Makes Things"

I'm not sure if that quote entirely accurate, but it has stayed with me ever since I first saw Capra's version of Hart and Kaufman's You Can't Take It With You. For those who haven't seen it, Mr. DePinna is a shy little eccentric who enjoys making thoroughly useless, yet charming objects. He is introduced via my title line, and somehow I've always felt it an apt introduction for myself as well.

I've always made things, ever since my tiny fingers could hold a needle, hammer, or paintbrush. Most of what I make is fairly useless - only of sentimental value to myself or a family member. People occasionally assume that I make my own clothes, which is a ridiculous notion. I frequently alter garments, but to completely fabricate something and then wear proudly it is an achievement that has always eluded me (except where costuming is concerned, but that's another ball game). I find it nearly impossible to tailor clothes to my own shape, and the few things I have made ended up looking so homemade that they were quietly resigned to the back of the closet before eventually being thrown out.

I don't even make clothes for other people. The closest I've ever come is costuming, and that can hardly be considered "clothing," as it is comprised of cheap, flashy trims and fabrics, usually unlined, all designed to be seen from at least twenty feet away. I wish I could make decent clothes, then I could perhaps take a bit more pride in my craft. As it is, I don't sew much any more beyond the odd nip or tuck.

All that being said, here is one rare exception that I am proud to share:

I decided that our old Christmas tree skirt was just to hideous to survive another year, so I rummaged through my collections of velvets and emerged with this little gem. I am proud on several counts - the first being the hand-finished edge, which represents an unusual amount of patience for a "quick project." The second is the use of recycled fabrics. The purple was skirt panels from a ridiculously tiny dress a friend had passed on, and the black and gold was from a gaudy jacket found at a thrift store. The flocked green was purchased for a Regency-era coat that never left the concept stage, and the black ribbon edging was from a time when I thought adding velvet ribbon to my jeans was the epitome of elegance. (Thank goodness I'm terrible at following through on my projects!) The final count on which I am proud is that the piece turned out more or less as I had intended, geometrically speaking. The skirt was not intended to be a full circle, since our tree is usually pushed up against the dining room wall:

In Which I Make An Introduction

ef·fi·ca·cy [ef-i-kuh-see]
–noun, plural -cies.
capacity for producing a desired result or effect; effectiveness: a remedy of great efficacy.

I am not sure when or how it happened, but by the eighteenth year of my short life, I had developed a strong sense of entitlement. This entitlement was not necesssarily for material possessions, but for rather for success. I had been given a happy childhood, a fine education, a variety of wonderful life experiences, and the mental capacity reflect on and analyze these experinces, gradually forming a solid idea of who I was and what I should become. I was intelligent, capable, and versatile: therefore, I was destined for an exciting life of success in whatever I put my mind to. This delusion was, for better or worse, short-lived.

Six years, three schools and seven jobs later, I now fully realize my potential for not meeting my anticipated successes. I have failed classes, I have been treated for depression and anxiety, I have nearly been fired, and I have both rejected and reaccepted my faith. In every aspect of my life: academically, socially, financially and spiritually, I have at some point hit a proverbial brick wall and wondered "where do I go from here?"

Stepping back from my own problems, I acknowledge that I still have a relatively easy life, and that I have been blessed beyond imagining. I am under no delusions of true suffering. I am, however, searching to regain a measure of control over myself, with how I think and behave. This blog is an effort to chronicle my journey toward regaining a piece of that childhood dream: to find a task, do it well, and build meaningful relationships with those around me.

If you intend to follow this blog, you need to understand that I am extremely hard on myself - far harder than anyone else in my life. You might not always understand my motivations or the results of my self-assessments, and it will do you absolutlely no good to try and convince me otherwise. That's what I'm paying my therapist for. I'm not fishing for sympathy or free advice. Just enjoy the ride, but do feel free to leave comments.

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Brief note about the previous post: This is a relic from last year's attempt to begin this blog in earnest. I have kept it as an amusing reminder of my propensity toward self-important long-windedness.

Tea for one

I made lemon and lavender tarts this evening and had tea at the extraordinarily late hour of 20:00. The lavender was from my garden last year. I had dried it with the intention of making something messy and fairly useless like a sachet or bowl of potpourri, but after a bit of research I discovered that I was actually growing English lavender, which is ideal for culinary use. So I indulged in a late-evening snack of almost cakelike scones slathered with clotted cream and a cup of lose-leaf Earl Grey.

I continually promise myself that I will initiate a daily teatime in my schedule, but I always fail to follow through on this. I enjoy tea, but I am also thoroughly particular about how I enjoy it. For instance, it may be consumed from a vulgar ceramic mug only during the winter months when it is taken for warmth as well as catharsis, and even then you should only do so when at the computer or standing by the kitchen counter. During the spring and summer, it can only be sipped from a delicate china cup, like so:

(This one in particular is from my Lenox Solitaire set: ivory fine china, banded in understated platinum. It's one of those rare and funny bits of elegance that was introduced to my impoverished estate through the death of an old family friend who had few heirs and apparently quite expensive taste in dishes. I use it whenever I feel my elegance quota is low for the week, and while it does little for my personal level of class, it does create a serene ambiance that simultaneously makes me pay greater attention to my manners. One does not slurp from a platinum-rimmed cup.)

In addition to the proper vessel, the tea must be taken at the table with the proper amounts of accompanying sweets and savories. My personal preferences are cucumber sandwiches, deviled ham, shortbread cookies, or scones with fruit preserves and clotted cream. The amount of food needed plus the length of time required to prepare and properly enjoy such a tea is what, unfortunately, has prevented me from making it a regular occurrence. Perhaps I should have a more ready supply of scones and cucumber.