David and I had a meandering chat this morning over breakfast that concluded with this fact about me: I am not a fan of small talk, but I absolutely want to hear about the scary thing that is on your mind and keeping you up at night, how you will manage it and whether you have the necessary supports in your life to help you with that task.

That is, I am bored to death on Monday morning by talk about your weekend, but I am fully engaged about your upcoming bunion surgery (no, I do not know anyone who has an upcoming bunion surgery, but if I did, I’d be preparing for them a post-op care package, and calling their surgeon). David thinks this is the trait that would have made me a good journalist. I think I am simply aware that life is very short, and I do not want to waste too much of it bantering about silly things.

The non-silly thing that is on my mind today is the fact that I know so many people who make things. The funny part is that none of these people earn their living by making! Which makes me wonder whether we make things to distract us from our daily grind, or whether we make things because we are compelled to do so. As in, pre-historic people had to fashion everything with their hands, so do we still have that trait in us?

I myself sometimes make things. I sew, knit, write, make little notebooks. I think I am good at my job but I derive satisfaction and joy from creating things. I also get fairly stressed out and irritable when the things I make do not quite turn out as I had hoped or envisioned, so I would not say that making things qualifies as “relaxing” activities for me!

So again, it begs the question: why do we make things?!

I am lucky to have talented makers in my life as I have been on the receiving end of their efforts.

One of my sisters made the bowls above, with clay on a wheel and kiln and everything.

And this doll was made by my friend, Anna, who sewed her and gave her to me when Anna and I were in university, suffering together in a program we did not love and that seemed to hate us back. Anna had made dozens of these dolls to sell at a fundraising-event for her son at his school. That son is now a grown man and father of two small children, which is so strange considering Anna and I were only in university about 5 years ago? Make it make sense, please.