If it's Monday, shouldn't it be a "Small Works Report" of some kind?

A report on my whereabouts, perhaps?
(painting the master bedroom. boring. but done!)

Or how about:

Still cold here . . .

I think I should start giving the
Small Works Daily Cold Report,
which basically means that for the next 9 months I'll sign in every day and post "Still cold here . . ."



It could be a wonderful exploration of people's tolerance, because while the Minnesotans might continue to tune in (weather reports leave us breathless with excitement), most of the world would yawn and then by about the third day click onto something better.


Which would leave me both cold AND lonely, a condition even a million Bonanza reruns couldn't cure. So on second thought I'm going to abandon the Small Works Daily Cold Report and wrack my brains for a better idea.

When I was a kid and I was overcome with ennui (which was just about whenever I finished the book I was reading, in other words OFTEN because Nancy Drew books don't require a whole lot of time)


I used to turn to books about making stuff.

There were three in particular that I would pore over for hours, dreaming of re-creating the incredible, and seemingly unattainable, projects presented therein.

One of my favorites was the Childcraft "Make & Do" Volume. I've been searching online for a copy for some time but have never encountered one of the correct vintage. It was full of all kinds of wonderful projects and launched me on a thousand afternoons of new potential careers.

I was for a short time, and by turn, a:

1) professional soap carver

2) puppet maker, and

3) fashioner of dollhouse furnishings
from empty pudding boxes.

I also entertained the idea of attempting the "Build a Periscope!" project on a regular basis, but felt I lacked the technical expertise (and small mirror) required.

One of my other favorite dream books was
the "Betty Crocker Boys & Girls Cook Book":



From this book I attempted many recipes (a few of the cookies made it into my permanent collection), but many of the projects there remained out of reach as well.



For instance, the grandeur of the "Castle Cake" made me sigh with wistful desire for out-of-my-league coolness -- it always seemed like something my groovy older sister might be able to make, but not I.

It's interesting to note that when I grew up to be someone who actually designed silly wish-book projects, my unrequited fascination with the "Castle Cake" finally paid off the day an editor requested this:


Hundreds of hours spent trying to wrap my brain around the "Castle Cake" gave me a good idea where to begin on the "Sandcastle Centerpiece." And the flags were a dead knock-off (sorry, Betty Crocker!)

What were we just saying about borrowing good ideas . . . ?

The third book that shaped my childhood hours of wishful thinking and grand, largely-unrealized plans recently popped back into my life serendipitously and is going to be the topic of the next

Small Works Dreams
and Largely-Unrealized Plans Report

(much catchier than the "Daily Cold Report")

for which I hope you'll tune in -- I promise not to mention whether or not it is cold (it will be) and how I feel about that fact (I hate it).

Instead I will offer a thoughtful discussion about the funny things we think about ourselves as children and the funny effect it has on what we do with the rest of our lives, or on what we think about what we do with our lives . . .



or in other words, how childish misconceptions about out-of-our-league coolness can (and do) often keep us from realizing our creative dreams.

Confused? Me too, obviously.
But we'll talk about that next time . . .