Crafty in a Good Way

Today we had the annual Holiday Craft Fair here at the college. I don't get crafters. My mom and sister can craft the hell out of anything. My sister quilts. By hand. My mom has a whole room devoted to crafts and sewing.  

A room.

My mom once made a series of these dolls -- nuns, actually -- that were friggin' hilarious. Sister Mary Garcia is the one I remember.  She had a tie-dyed habit and a peace symbol for a crucifix. The other nuns were suitably scandalous.  People bought those dolls. Paid money.

Then there's my Aunt Nelly. She used to crochet vests, scarves, and toilet paper covers that looked like dolls. (the TP goes under the skirt.)  When I was a kid, I was stylin' in my crocheted vests over my turtlenecks.

The craft gene completely skipped me.

My younger daughter got the craft gene. She got the cooking gene as well, courtesy of my mom and sister. Even better, the gene has mutated in her -- she turns out these crazy twisted things. Like the time she made Christmas cookie cut-out dolls complete with cookie underwear, among other accoutrements.  

I don't know why all this domesticity skipped me. Not that I want to be a crafter. But it would be cool to cook up a gourmet meal. For fun.

We're doing our holiday potluck at work this Friday. I am already stressing -- ohmygod, I have to cook! Crap. I'll probably just get something from Trader Joe's and call it a day.

I may not be a crafter, but I am pretty crafty. In a good way, not a craft way.