I have a strong penchant for all things creative and I’ve dabbled in many of them. Since I was a young child, I could always find ways to express myself artistically. When I was still in single digits I would spend hours at a time at our summer cottage painting birds on old cedar shingles. I was no Rembrandt but I must say they were pretty good. My parents were slightly concerned that I was not spending more time outside until they came to the realization that I never complained that I was bored and they didn’t have to find things for me to do.
Exploring that creativity was like opening the door to a new world. My affection for writing began at the tender age of eleven and that passion has always been my true love. Being able to paint my images with words gave me more freedom because the images came from my head and they were an original creation, not an imitation of anything else.
The poetry continued through high school but the writer in me found great competition with the sketch artist lurking in the shadows. I would spend hours, most often during class, sketching and shading a large collection of pencil drawings and thus continued my artistic journey. Oil painting, photography, wood carving, sewing and cake decorating are all part of my creative arsenal and I enjoy being able to dive into the bag and pull out a different weapon when the mood strikes.
Tonight, once again, I get to trade idioms for icing and decorate a going away cake for a friend. I used to make wedding cakes as a side business and loved it. It was three hours of being able to lose myself in a process that would begin with a blank canvas and turn into something beautiful. The cake above was a cake I made for my mom on her 65th birthday. Everything on the cake was made by hand and all edible.
Perhaps my love of words stands above the rest because words are forever. Cakes will be eaten, pencil and colors may fade, but words and phrases are always readily available and they do not need a time or a place to be written. They linger in the recesses of my brain and stand ready and waiting, longing for the chance to be freed.
Though we have many loves throughout our lives, we always remember our first true love. While the writer in me may step aside to allow the myriad of other hobbies to bubble to the surface, those words will wait for me because they know my heart belongs to them.
Family and friends aside, is writing your true love or do you share a passion for something else?