It's a fascinating label, considering that the analytical, logical parts of my mind are a much more obvious part of my persona. I notice tiny details. I solve problems. I take things apart and put them back together. I look for the source.
Even so, compliments I receive from family and friends return again and again to creativity. Sometimes I wonder who they're actually talking about, but secretly I love it.
Sometimes I outwardly embrace the label. Having a "creative" personality is an excellent excuse for running a few minutes late, or for accidentally putting on mismatched socks in the morning. "Oh, yeah," I'll say, glancing nonchalantly at the flashback-inducing contrast of one purple plaid ankle, crossed neatly over an orange paisley ankle. "I'm feeling inspired today." I like to think I can work it.
Sometimes, creativity is essential. At more difficult times in my life, I've sometimes had to create something from nothing. I remember one Christmas, a few years ago, when a friend gave me a box of her daughter's old toys. That year, I spent a night in my garage, painstakingly inspecting story books, looking for the ones that were most perfect. Those with the fewest folded corners; those with the fewest fingerprints on the cover; those that could pass for new--those were gifts from Santa that year. I wrapped them in homemade wrapping paper, and tied them in ribbons I'd cut from an old pillowcase. I cried that year at my fireplace, feeling like I'd failed my girls. But my children were young then, and their delight was palpable. I like to think that if they'd been older, I'd have found a way to rise to the occasion. I learned that year that no matter what, there would be a way to make Christmas for them.
Later, in a more prosperous season, I would find myself making big, puffy bows out of pine-colored dog-poop bags with Waffle Guy's youngest daughter. There wasn't any necessity. We were only doing it to prove that we could create something beautiful from a humble poo bag. But as I watched that Youthful Waffler accent her beautifully wrapped gifts with her fluffy, homemade bows, I recalled harder years, and I was grateful that creativity had become a luxury.
This year, we took a Thanksgiving ski trip with most of the Waffle Clan. The Eldest brought with her the Adopted Waffler, a native Texan who'd never experienced the sting of Lake Superior wind in November. To celebrate, and to keep warm, the girls had packed an arsenal of Heinous Sweaters, and we expanded the collection at the Duluth Ragstock so that every member of our posse could sport one for a day. When my brother, a North Shore resident, met us for lunch, the Young Wafflers even presented him with a Christmas Panda shirt. He wore it like a champ, and we all spent much of the meal giggling at one another affectionately. I found delight in the fact that on a whim, these two young women could so masterfully craft for us all such a beautiful memory from such an ugly source.
Nothing, it would seem, is wasted.
And isn't that the very definition of creativity? To take something hideous, or to take nothing at all, and to turn it into something beautiful. When I see it in other people, I regard this sort of creativity as genius.
For some reason, I feel almost desperate this year to make the world just a little better. I'm an idealist, and I get this way from time to time. When I was a kid, I was convinced that if I tried hard enough, I could cure AIDS and end war. It was either noble or a delusion of grandeur. I'm not quite so naive, now, but I still believe that one person can make a tiny difference. And I believe a lot of people can make a lot of difference. It just takes some creativity.
When I mentioned in this blog last week that I wanted some help adopting an additional family, I got so much response that we were actually able to provide gifts for several more families. For a day or two, I realized that I couldn't want any more than to call people like you my friends. Maybe it's guilt for a time when secondhand books were the best I could muster that makes me feel so compelled to fix things. Maybe it's some deep-rooted need to prove to myself that I am a good person. But I'd like to think that creativity has something to do with it.
Waffle Guy and I have come up with a creative way to feed a few people who might otherwise do without. In the spirit of creating beauty from ugliness, it involves your most heinous and gaudy holiday attire. It also involves filling our truck with your donated non-perishables, and snacks for you. Email me if you want to know more-- wafflequest2009 (at) gmail (dot) com.
I do always brag about my amazing, creative friends. Let's make something pretty, huh?
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