Coke addict…
I’m married to one. It’s unfortunate really, because not even the show Intervention would be able to help me. On the bright side however, it’s not the illegal narcotic my wife craves, but the soft drink.
I mention this because in some people, “addictive personality” is a way of describing potential downfalls. But in her world (and yours) of stamping, it sure seems to be a blessing. Jen is relentless in her pursuit of perfection when it comes to putting together cards and projects. She is constantly tweaking, testing, exploring, reinventing new ways to put ink and paper together. Once Ellie and I oblige with the requisite “oohs and ahhs,” Jen returns to her cave to go after the next challenge (I have to admit, most of them look the same to me).
Meanwhile, my selfish parts just want my wife back. She has the most demanding job known to humanity (full time mom) and yet witness the volume contributed to magazines, blogs, design teams and her own site each day. Those of you who share this hobby I’m sure understand the sheer number of hours that go into any single project. I don’t know where the drive to do what she does comes from, but then I guess I don’t understand anything else about women, so why should this be different?

The girl that turned Jen on to stamping has actually given it up (for the most part) and taken up a new obsession: baking. Now THAT is something I could get behind! Imagine coming home to tasty baked goodness in lieu of every card she creates… mmm, I can feel my waistline expanding already.
Meanwhile, I am the great enabler. The other night as I was leaving Jen sniveled that she wished she had something to drink. Rather than stick to my guns, I stopped by the convenience store and doubled back with a 2-liter. I say that to say, as much as part of me would be thrilled if she threw away everything in that stamp room and learned instead the art of deep tissue massage, the part that loves her more remembers Red’s words from The Shawshank Redemption:
I have to remind myself that some birds weren’t meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. And when they fly away, the part of you that knew it was a sin to lock them up does rejoice. But your world is just that much colder and emptier when they’re gone. I don’t know… maybe I just miss my friend.
Speaking of gone, I might be missing from this space for a time. School starts back up before my next blog is due, and I’ll be carrying 15 hours plus trying to work at least 20. So if you really miss my ramblings you may have to settle for the archives - see you in 2009.
Td




















