“It’s 19 minutes after seven o’clock,” the radio announcer declares. Why is it that in this thin sliver of time, my mind floods with ideas? I see and hear all manner of creative things: a quilt pattern, a long forgotten swag of fabric I tucked away in a box in the closet, a craft project that would use the block of paraffin wax in the garage, the paper project for Christmas gift giving, the bread recipe with fresh cranberries, the narrative thread about a childhood living across the street from Cutler Ridge park, the idea of recording sounds from my childhood that may still exist (especially that diving board at the Cutler Ridge Park pool) and the layout for my garden.
But now it is 25 minutes after seven o’clock. And I have to get to work. Where I excel at listening and solving problems but where my creative energy is not in high demand. Add a week filled with obligations, meetings and appointment in the hours after work ends and there is simply no creative flesh, no pinch of time I can grab hold of to work on a project. I feel quite bound up without a large wedge of time to write and ponder and sew and bake and photograph and draw.
Time to start looking for where I can grabs some time to step into that creative space that is busting at its seams.