Switcheroo Woohoo

I sit in the same chair every day, for a good part of the day. It gives me a full view of the first floor of the workshop, as well as a window to the world. Or at least Roscoe Village.

When I sit down to one of the work tables to lead a class, a magical shift happens in more than my lower-back. The simple act of switching seats turns on a creative place in me that can easily get sleepy in the comfort of my every-day spot. Earlier this week we had a camp with multiple students that didn't know one another beforehand. When the first 3 students arrived, they sat elbow-to-elbow along one side of the table. The instructor sat on the other side of the table to begin the class, and the students listened quietly and began a project in similar fashion. I waited for the right time to try an experiment with a powerful technique that I have used previously in my corporate career-- change seats to change perspective.

Think about the last meeting you attended (groan) where contention grew between two or more people that sat next to one another. How much more difficult is it to be difficult when you sit across from someone? Sure, the table between us gives a little buffer, but being able to read the other person's expression and grab, or try uncomfortably to avoid, their eye contact creates an entirely different playground. To stoke creativity and foster teamwork, I would ask meeting participants to choose a chair that they hadn't inhabited for a while. Even the simple consideration of "why is Candice always asking us to do silly things" was enough to lighten the mood and prepare everyone for something better than the dreaded meeting.

So when the moment was right this week, I asked some of the campers to try a new seat. Woohoo! Moments later the giggle factor went through the roof. That's right. The Chief Giggle Officer's job here was done.

Now it's your turn. Give it a try. At work, at the dinner table, or in the next class that you take. See what a change in view will do. We can't wait to hear how it works.

"REAL" ART? Really?

My eleven-teen daughter has taken to repeating my seemingly unbelievable statements and then appending them with the rhetorical "really, Mom?" I found myself using the same when recently looking for an art class to give her as a birthday gift. (Ironic, I know, but I teach many a little person to sew that come from a family of seamstresses- who wants to learn from their own family of experts? Remember learning to drive a car and how many familial arguments that would spur?) I found what I thought was the perfect class- curriculum looked right, time fit the schedule and the location was an easy walk. And I almost went through with it, when the online description of the class began to loop in my mind: "REAL" ART. Philosophers have been debating this forever- we're still doing it. Defining it seems to almost always require a circular reference. "REAL" ART. Really?

Kids like to make stuff. They naturally know it's good for them. There are times when parents might feel obligated to resort to something easy to help them along- there's an entire aisle of easy at big supply stores. But part of what is so amazing about the creative process is the problem-solving skills that it fosters...when we thought we were only playing. I know that my kids will tire of me being a constant coach for building their creative muscle, so I've looked around town for places and things that, in my humble process-over-result opinion, are open-ended fun for kids of all ages without presuming we need to be told how to be creative or when our art is, ugh, real.

-Pick a warm indoor space, like one of our many museums offering free-admission for the rest of January. People-watch but only from the knees down. Take turns crafting stories about the people you see. Where do they work? Are they friends or sisters? Where else have they been today, or where are they going next?

-Pick up a book to bridge the busy-parent gap: Green Genes in Andersonville also stocks the planet- and thereby kid-friendly art supplies you need to go with it. (And if you forget the book in the diaper bag by the front door, there is always napkin-doodling: take turns making a small scribble and ask your playmates to describe what they see by having them add to the drawing.)

-Pick a really packed vintage store, like Hoard in Ravenswood. Browse every corner of the shop and find one little intriguing thing. Don't hoard, just pick one thing (this will help focus your energy.) Now do something with it. It can be as simple as creating a small still-life sanctuary in your home or a complete photo-essay of your thing enjoying your favorite places around town. Or turn it into a lamp or a journal cover or a fascinator hat! Let the thing and your new perspective be the clues to its new life as a __________.

-Watching clouds can be endless fun. What do you see? It's a fluffy Rorschach game for family and friends, which can be a cool way to get to know a little more about each other's point of view. To keep warm, drive to the top of a parking garage and peep from a car (free is best, and these are two of my favorites: 2939 W Addison St & 1550 N. Kingsbury St.) or pick your favorite skyscraper. If we weren't in our 2nd of 3 annual winter seasons, I'd recommend a different location conducive to prone viewing, but the activity is the same, just at a different angle.

-Dramatic play is as creative as it gets. And highly-entertaining improv comedy, too, for anyone eavesdropping. Say goodbye to clunky-germy plastic-play and say hello to Little Beans Cafe in Bucktown. The playspace is a storekeeper/mechanic/fireman/pretend-mommy haven, and parents can stay comfortably close by while sipping or noshing. Eavesdropping on the grown-ups might be as entertaining and creative while the eavesdropper crafts assumptions about the context of the conversation. (Did I just write that?)

Bored in the winter? Hardly. Real creative fun? Really. (For more about art from the mouths of babes, see this short-film created by a tween.)

Unwrapolution (aka Cummins on Ice, the show)

We know it's seachange when I can use Facebook to mea culpa about not sending holiday cards this year. And get a roar of support. It's not that I don't enjoy sending out the annual missive. Or making them! But this year has been quite a ride in the Cummins household....now known as Cummins on Ice, the show. So I'll say it one more time and then not again: if you expected a holiday card from us and then didn't receive one, we're sorry and please just understand.

Our kids have been incredibly flexible with changes in our holiday traditions. We've tried to be greener. We've tried to be simpler. We no longer wrap presents but instead use one giant felt bag per child. It's almost more fun to "unwrap" because the bag is like a giant stocking. Put your hand in, guess what it is by touch, and then pull it out. I'm calling this our unwrapolution, a revolution in the way we do things. Not just change. Big change.

Our kids have also embraced the handmade gift as just-as-good or better than the things they put on their wish lists. My kids would never have thought to list custom hooded-snuggies, an owl hat or a crochet Club Penguin figurine to their lists, but I can rest tonight (because the gifts are done!) knowing that these will be their favorites. Not just when they're adults looking back on their childhood holiday memories, but in just a few days when they pull them out of the giant felt bags.

It's been hard work to make these shifts, and undoubtedly more so for previously-consumerist me than for our resilient and amazing kids. I no longer have to ask myself "how much is too much?" because I've developed a sixth sense that now knows better. I'll always love cashmere. And gift certificates to the spa. But the next massage I get will be guilt-free, a true reward and very relaxing. Here's to an amazing 2011.

Hostess-Mostess-Goddess

We were recently fortunate to be chosen as the venue for one of our frequent-flyer's daughter's birthday parties. I seem to remember learning that this party at Wishcraft would be the first birthday party that would have ever been hosted outside of their own home (they throw amazing parties for lots of other festive occasions.) The party finally came- the family and friends were delightful and the event felt truly effortless. The icing on this birthday cake though was the thank you note that we received a few days later: "amazing party", "project was adored by all", "exceeded the expectations of the (very picky) birthday girl", "leaving me nothing to do but revel in being the birthday girl's mom", "I couldn't have done better myself and I must also admit that my standards are ridiculously high", and "I'm at the very tip-top of the Wishcraft fan club." Wow. The mutual-admiration must have run high that evening as I recall making notes-to-self the entire evening about how special the Host-Mom made every child guest (and staff-member) feel and how much energy she put into greeting every parent as if they were a long-lost friend; a Hostess-Mostess-Godess. It reminded me of the immediate impact of being a good host and how lucky we are to be in the business of making memories.

Of course we want everyone to have a Wishcraft party- kids, grown-ups, moms-to-be, seniors. But until we're lucky enough to hear from you that it's time to start planning your first Wishcraft party, I share here some of details that are important to us and that we think make for a fabulous function.

• Consider every sense as you prepare the party space. Go further than decoration and food and consider the lighting and how the room smells. Our workshop is a colorful feast by its nature, but the scent draws people in completely.
• Include an activity that taps into every guest's individual creativity and point-of-view. Something magical happens when the right-brains are turned on; even the conversation seems to be easier.
• Plan the activities such that every guest has an opportunity to be readily successful and comfortable. And planning really does take planning. Think through every step and have everything that a guest would need within quick reach. Sewing by hand? Pre-thread the needles. Using messy stuff? Have (sensitive-skin) hand-wipes to save guests extra trips to the sink.
• If you plan on making a mess (fun!), also plan on using natural, gentle and fragrant cleaning supplies. And if using a spray cleaner, spray into the towel rather than onto the surface to avoid over-spray making its way into innocent nostrils.
• Know your guests' needs and sensitivities and take precautions that allow your guests to enjoy every part of the activities without worry. Offer allergen-free treats and if necessary, know the ingredients of every art material.
• If your guests are small, have an emergency contact number on hand for each guest. The excitement, noise, sugar....there's no way to know when a little tummy-ache is going to turn into something more.
• Treat your guests as guests the entire time. Welcome them in and help them get settled or to make a new friend. Near the end, help pack-up their belongings and send them on their way without a care.

We think our parties are just right and hosting them is as much fun as coming to them. Come together in a wonderful space, enjoy being creative and being with friends, and leave feeling like the artist you are.

The Invasion Of The Trust Snatchers

My colleague Kristina is one hearty soul. Hardy, too. Following an intense morning, Kristina and I ventured out on our weekly errands. I was in a so-so mood. I've spent the weekday mornings shuttling back and forth between Children's Memorial Hospital and have a lot on my mind. Kristina was all sunshine. Bouncy pigtails, rosy cheeks and a contagious smile. At every destination she used the name of the staff-person helping us in an affirming sentence about the positive impact they were making on her morning. Who was impacting whose morning? After leaving our third destination, I joked that a little bluebird was going to come land on her shoulder and whistle her a tune. Funny- a man wandered, meandered really, through the parking lot at just that moment whistling like Thelonious Monk was present in his head. We laughed - she thought that I was trying to tell her that the man whistling was going to land on her shoulder, which would squish her, but she really enjoyed the promise of perhaps becoming a Snow, Cinderella, Aurora or even Ariel.

For the rest of the day I let her morning influence my outlook on everything and everyone. It was a glorious day. I had an afternoon date planned with my adorably entertaining son. I picked him up and went to Trader Joe's for a few dinner necessities and was enthralled with his tales of his analysis of the age of the Joker in the last Batman film (which he has not seen) based on overhearing the Joker's voice. (For the curious: he assessed the Joker as being 36 years old and thinks that if he had been 40 like, gasp, me, his voice would have been significantly deeper. His words.) On the way out of the store, not quite through the exit, the woman in front of me abruptly bent over. Rapt with my son's big brown eyes and curious tales, I waited politely for her to pick up or do whatever it was that brought her to the ground. But then I was pinned from behind by a very tall and, let's say thick, male...while she simultaneously stumbled back toward me. Again, trying to set a good example, I sweetly explained to the man behind me that there was a log-jam at the exit and that I was sorry for blocking his way. Hmm. No expression. Funny too that, for being Chicago, this guy wasn't irritated at all that the woman in front of me was still fumbling around for who knows what.

The fumble was mine. Oldest scam in the book, says my husband. My wallet was gone, and thanks to email and text alerts from one of my banks, I was able to instantaneously begin the anguishing process of figuring out what exactly they had made away with and locking down the flood gates that were apparently flowing freely around the Target on Peterson Ave. within 30 minutes of the squeeze-play. Hindsight, right? I knew at my core that something was off about the entire moment at store's exit, but I didn't, couldn't, wouldn't, take my attention off of the little guy that needed it most.

So back to Princess Kristina. She shoulders every ounce of everything else that needed my attention that afternoon- including having take-out dinner delivered to my house- and leaves me to make a zillion phone calls and start begging Driver's Services to believe that I am me so that I could make my rounds of the local banks and set everything right again with my identity. Which I think is now secure once again. And all of this is in the last 25.3 hours.

I know our heroine whistled while she worked. I didn't. I'm mad and sad and glad. I'm mad at myself for being so lazy with the location of my wallet. I'm sad that my son was exposed to a violating experience in a place that has become so familiar. I'm glad that it's been just a day and it's just about behind me. And I would whistle but I might get more wrinkles. I bounce between a calm recognition that no one can steal my happiness by lifting my wallet, and a commando consideration of busting into Target and demanding to see the security camera footage of this couple spending thousands of dollars in the matter of minutes and, damn it, why wasn't identification requested or the signatures compared when the total of each transaction was over $300 a pop?

Sigh. I am home safe. My family is about the house having their own fun. My family further afar was there for me when I needed to cry in private (in my car, via cell phone.) I have friends on their way over. It's all good.

But Dear Thieves- I hope you slept well last night on the high of your score. And I hope you sleep well tonight absolved of any guilt you have over making my son feel nervous about criminals out among us (no honey, they don't all look like cartoon criminals with a 5 o'clock shadow and a bag of cash.) And I hope you dance joyously to the 3 songs you were able to buy online. And I hope the screen on the TV you bought is really big and that you can afford the cable bill to go with it. Maybe you have kids and you brought a smile to their faces. Have a good night, Thieves. I'd say I'll see you around but I suspect we may not be headed for the same place. I'll be over here doing the best work I can for my family, my friends and my community. Maybe I'll even be able to help you someday.

A Fall Toggle Switch- Do You Have One?

Do you have one? A toggle-switch that indicates the arrival of Fall? An internal radio button pushed gently by the sigh of a falling leaf?

For me the first sign is a shift in my coffee order. Goodbye to the sweetned iced-coffee and good morning to the warm cafe au lait. Or the morning breakfast- out with the cold cereal and in with the (gluten-free) oatmeal. This colorful season, like Spring, is for me one of the most significant hallmarks of the passing of time and always seems to bring with it the opportunity to recreate one's self, one's look, one's menu! Cover that grill and bring on the soup.

At the workshop we have a similar set of changes. Sewing projects for our classes move from breezy drawstring skirts to cozy lounge pants. Crochet and knitting classes, workshops and camps make their reappearance. The very fiber (content) of the space changes as we intuitively step in time with the swirling changes taking place outside of our workshop windows. And now with our second floor that peers into the treetops, it is almost as if the the artwork of the space, via the windows to the out-of-doors, has been changed.

We all have our rituals. After you've located the sweaters and boots in your home, here are a few quick projects to do with your kids that feel like Fall:

-Make a 'Words Take Flight" mobile by tying birds and other flying things (like tumbling leaves) cut from the pages of an old book to hang from a substantial twig. This can also be installed directly to a wall rather than hung as a mobile.

-Make a menagerie of favorite animals using only fallen and found natural materials (leaves, twigs, bark) and a little school-glue (allow them to dry flat.) Make the scavenging walk as much a part of the fun as the crafting.

-Make a sculpture with a few small twigs twisted into a small piece of recycled styrofoam to represent small trees. Paint the styrofoam and even the twigs an autumnal color or a contrasting color that would never be found in nature. Or coat the styrofoam with a thin coat of school-glue and press pieces of crushed/dried leaves into the glue to create a seasonal coating. Adorn the twigs with small animals made from pom-poms (like a cardinal) or animals and leaves cut from an old paper grocery bag or thin cardboard. Use colored markers to add detail.

For me: closet-changing today, apple-picking next week, and pie is in our future. What are your plans?

Bobbleheads of Negativity

Have you ever made another driver so dissatisfied with your skill, or kindness, that they shake their head in disgust? Wait- first comes the "what the?" hand, then comes the head bobble. I've admittedly been dumb-founded by a fellow driver before. In fact, it happened just last week on one of those narrow streets that allows parking on both sides and is marked by cars-of-the-wise that have their side-view mirrors tucked back like a little bird protecting its wing feathers. There is an etiquette to navigating such a street, a kindness that one shows the driver coming in the other direction. Kind of a first-come, first-served manner in which the second vehicle pulls a tad to the side to allow the first vehicle to make the first pass. This particular woman rolled through her stop signs and barreled down the street, forcing me into, ugh, someone's side-view mirror.

So how did I respond? Ooops. There are those drivers however that use a hand gesture and then follow it up with a head-bobble that doesn't stop. Sometimes the person will still be behind me so I can see the entropic wobble. I wonder though, for those drivers that I can't see, how long does this head thing go on? Does it perpetuate another incident, rippling through all of city traffic? It's like reviews of businesses. All of the wonderful things that people write, the kind of things that bring a tear to the eye and a catch to the breath, the kinds of things that remind you why you do what you do, seem to be erased, at least momentarily, when someone takes the time to write something mean. Maybe they think they are being helpful to an unsuspecting customer (which I suppose doesn't give that customer much credit, assuming that they need to be warned of some non-obvious peril.) Maybe they are just seeking revenge for a wrong-doing that was likely never intended. But once that ripple of negativity is started....how does it end? It takes only one person, be it in cyberspace or in a group of real people.

What would happen if each of us turned that negative thought into a constructive one? One motivated by kindness. Could it create a ripple of heads bobbing up and down, saying "yes!" to good things? Well, I'll start here.

Dear ___________ (any person at whom I have ever directed negative anything), I am sorry, and I promise to do better. I appreciate that at the moment of _________ (whatever it was that happened), I could not have possibly known all of the circumstances at play. If I have an opportunity to see/work/play with you again, I promise to do better. Love, Candice.

Clean Teeth or a Clean Sink?

You would think with all of the new miracle toothpastes, there would be one that could deliver clean teeth and a clean sink (and taste good, and have no HFCS, like Tom's or Burt's- thanks guys.) The thought came to me as I scrubbed away a little chunk of paste left by my son, as I was tempted to call him back to the sink to see the evidence and learn a little something. But I thought twice- pick your battles. Dare I layer on one more responsibility when getting the teeth brushed was already a big win? Not today.

It's funny how something as little as an encounter with toothpaste can skew your entire day. We have been working fast and lovingly to prepare our new space for our after-school program, and even with the best of project plans, the scope of planned work that can be squeezed into a tiny little timeframe shrinks as little surprises pop up (and if only the little surprises could have been as easy to erase as a little toothpaste.) But we pick our battles. All of the large work is done, and the first pieces of art are on the walls, but the closets.....oh. We are blessed with a ton of storage room in the new space- something we couldn't say for the first floor of the workshop- but they threaten to become little black-holes of craft and hardware. The closets, and all of the other now seemingly insignificant line-items on the project plan, will wait for another day as we throw all of our energy into creating the most incredible after-school experience we can for an amazing group of kids. Nothing is more important.

Falling Up The Stairs

The entire Summer has come and gone and now we prepare to Fall up the stairs. Wishcraft is expanding to include the top floor of our building as new space for our after-school program (aka Crafter-School) that has grown 500% since last year. As we paint the walls, lay new flooring and design the space, it brings back not-so-distant memories of preparing the original workshop space just a little over 1.5 years ago. For that project we allowed ourselves approximately 5 weeks from idea to launch. This time the idea has had plenty of time to percolate, and hence plenty of time to generate jitters, and even less time to execute. School for our after-school students begins in 8 days. We started painting 5 days ago. It's a family-affair, and what a cooperative and supportive family we have. The colors are cheery, the music is festive and amazing progress has been made. We have a big room for (home)work and play, a kitchen (hurray!) and a reading room with a wall of windows looking out into the treetops. What a fabulous tree-house surprise we have for our students from last year.

A woman peeked in our windows a few days ago, and was surprised to find my happy face peeking right back. I invited her in and we spoke for a few moments as she described the painting service that she has started. It was fun to talk to another mom-preneur who was as excited about what we are doing as she was to tell us about her work. It's seems so easy to sell a service that you believe in with all of your being. It never feels forced to share details about a project that resonates so easily with the mission of your human-endeavor. And to my surprise, it just might not be that hard to fall up the stairs*.

*Yes, a few of you have actually seen me do this before in my rush to get somewhere. I promise, I've become more thoughtful and present and have slowed down quite a bit.

Love In A Paper Towel

Finally. A resolution of many new year's past has been realized- the waste free lunch. Waste here is of course relative, as only the kids really know which foods get tossed or, the grail of goodies, traded. But the waste that I can control is now under control. It's not that much more difficult to send a packed lunch free of plastic baggies and aluminum foil. It is quite a bit more difficult to make sure that the reusable food storage makes its way back home to be cleaned and reused the following day. (Hint- invest in double the storage...just in case. Actually, I can just about guarantee the backup set will be employed by the third day of the new program.)

There is one disposable, yet still evergreen in its impact, item that I am unable to bury for good- the love note. Though it has improved in its efficiency, there are no plans for its ultimate demise. Once sent on a separate post-it, it has evolved into a two-fer on a paper towel: "wipe your face, sweetie and oh, how I love you". I've tried multiple writing utensils and had finally landed on the ultra fine-tip Sharpie for the job, but recently invented a three-fer approach that mitigates the risk of my youngest smearing his face with a juicy-wet ink, and saves me the effort of holding a wiggly-bumpy paper still in place under the pull of the pen's tip, all the while just still waiting patiently for the caffeine to do its own job. To accomplish this feat, I pull off two paper towels and lay them together. Then, create a crease one-third of the way from any of the edges. On this crease I cut a tear-drop, thereby rendering a heart shape in each paper towel, ready to safely convey my motherly love. The bonus (hence the third objective met): two little paper hearts that I deliver to the front-gate of my husband's coffee cup each morning. Silent and sweet, the last moment of its kind before a day full of ____________. Good morning.