Over the weekend, my husband and I wandered around a couple of craft fairs. I am always amazed at how creative people are: how they can take a piece of wood and turn it into a sculpture or a funky box with a secret drawer; how they can take a piece of cloth and turn it into an adorable little girl's reversible sunhat; and how they can take pieces of glass and bits of stone and turn them into unique earrings.
I admit it: I'm jealous. I don't carve or sculpt. I don't draw or paint or take pictures. I don't knit or embroider. Most of what I attempt looks like something a first grader would make. (Okay, actually, I think the first grader's would probably be better.) I would love to be able to make things with my hands. But, as my husband likes to remind me, I make things with words. That's a gift of another sort.
Maybe I should set up a writing booth at a craft fair. I could display some pretty poetry, some zingy dialogue, some unique character description. I could frame them and hang them - a gallery of words! - and people could wander around and look at my words the way they look at other people's wood sculptures and homemade quilts.
Hmm, I'm not sure how much of an audience there'd be for my word gallery. But then again, who knew there'd be such an audience for cold neck packs for pets?