Tuesday, August 30, 2011


I grew up in family of “do-ers”.   I have memories of my parents on a Saturday morning sitting with a cup of coffee and the newspaper.  One would turn to the other and, through the lingering smell of pancakes, say, “What if we tore down this wall?”  or, “Let’s build a new deck.”  By the end of the day, the wall was down or deck was underway. 
My sister and I had a childhood filled with hammers, glue, flour, and rock tumblers.  Our lullabies, the singing of drills, the whooshing of sewing machines, and the scrape of shovels.     Visits to the relatives’ included erecting cabins and building ponds.  No visit to the beach was complete without a couple of sand sculptures.  
We built decks, canoes, planted gardens, cooked from scratch (with Grandma), and painted.  My sister and I would take an idea to Dad and we’d try to make it together.  Every fanciful contraption we imagined was worth trying to him.
Sometimes a project failed.  Then, it was researched and tried again.  Sometimes,  it was an astounding success.  Sometimes, it was just a failure and was relegated to the list of great stories my parents tell together.
I have a lot of great stories.
I’ve since grown up and struck out on my own.  With the support of my ever tolerant husband and the encouragement of my parents and sister, I still follow the “Do-er” spirit.   I cook, brew, build, research, plant, and create.   In this blog, I will take you along in my successes and my failures in hopes of inspiring others to stop talking about doing something and do.