Last night I got it in my head to make snowflakes. Paper ones, of course. I wondered, as I folded a piece of paper, how long it had been since I cut out a paper snowflake. Given the results of my first go-around with a piece of white paper and scissors, it had been longer than I thought.
So I tried again.
And this morning I went on line to look for help. Yeah, I know that’s cheating, but I needed some help. I was anxious to graduate from first grader snowflakes to sixth grade quality in a day or two because I have a present I would like to embellish with them. And at least I didn't download patterns.
I think I’m getting the hang of it now, but I’m certainly not as good at it as I was as a kid, when a pad of paper—with or without scissors—could keep me entertained for hours. Especially if there were crayons around. At Christmas time my favorite things to draw were Christmas trees, snowmen, and holly berry sprigs, so even just a red and a green crayon would do. Put the mother load box of 64 Crayolas in front of me? Well, then. See you tomorrow.
Remember those days? Remember when it didn’t take much to make you happy, when there weren’t so many distractions to take you away from your contented self and concentrated efforts to cut snowflakes and draw holly berry? When you actually believed you could be a rich and famous artist if you could copy the picture in the magazine and mail it in?
As the song goes: those were the days, my friends.