The Kitchen Garden Novice Shops

Ah, New Year's Eve, that day of paradox. We look forward to a new year, and we reflect on the one past. We glut ourselves on party food, knowing full well our conscience will dictate tomorrow's fast.
"Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we diet."  We enjoy the last day of holiday decorations, reluctant to give up that tinsel and glitter for a whole year. Yet we concede that New Years Day, those decorations become a bit like half deflated balloons the day after a celebration. Post-party depression sets in.

If you're like me, the after Christmas sales are more than overstock clearance--they're a tradition! I have always eagerly participated in this rite of consumer bone-picking. And so, this past week, funded by a bit of Christmas bonus, I perused the aisles for after holiday mark-downs, too good to pass up.

Only a funny thing happened. I didn't buy a thing. Nothing. Zip. Nada. It's not that I'd received so much for Christmas. Our gift-giving this year was limited to grandchildren and a very low dollar limit on the adults. But for some reason, as I browsed the clearance racks, I couldn't find a thing I needed. What's worse, I couldn't find a thing I wanted. Huh. Who'da thunk it? Could it be that all of my postcon-sumerism indoctrination has finally sunk in? Naw. I doubt it.

I came home to reflect. If I couldn't find anything I wanted to purchase, why was I still feeling unfulfilled? An empty nagging hole remained. Perhaps meditation would help. I visualized the "hole in my soul," a cavernous ravine near the pit of my stomach. What could fill this gnawing chasm? What was it I really, really wanted?

Softly, slowly it came to me. I wanted--dare I say even needed--an outlet for my creativity. And where does one look for such a commodity? I thought of all the things I love to tangibly create. I'm happiest when I'm writing or scrapping. There's something about the tactile sensation of paper textures, the scent of inks and glues, the splash of colors and text that ignites that creative spark in me. Yet, simply creating has not been enough it seems. I have always crafted scrap pieces and cards for friends and family. And what has been my reward? Probably the gratification that someone appreciates my work. Hardly a purely altruistic motivation. No, simply creating was not enough. I needed to give that gift to someone, a stranger, without the certain knowledge of appreciation.

So I desired an outlet for anonymous, creative giving. Now I ask you--is that a tall order or what? Turns out--not so much. I googled "card making" and "donating" and one of the first sites to pop up on my search list was an organization called Operation Write Home. This is a grass roots group that crafts homemade, blank greeting cards and distributes them to service men and women to keep in touch with their families while they are deployed. Score!

Isn't it funny the way the God comes through for you when you simply ask? And isn't it lucky that this postconsumer convert still knows where to shop?

So, my friends, I'm off to craft my first batch of cards for the worthiest of strangers. Now if that Christmas tree would only take itself down. Sigh...