New Hobby Alert: Needle Felting

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Tonight I started a new hobby. Needle felting. I have ALMOST everything I need to get started, but I admit, I am missing the foam mat work surface, which is super important. However that did not stop me from creating my first little project: a pumpkin!

A tiny pumpkin made of wool.

It’s definitely not perfect, but for a first attempt I am happy with it! I really enjoy the repetitive stabbing motion that is required. It is definitely therapeutic. I want to learn both how to make sculptures of my wool, as well as create 2 dimensional wool paintings using similar, if not the same – techniques.

I am hoping the rest of my equipment, well – the foam mat work surface, will arrive tomorrow and then I can get a lot more practice in the art form. I will admit I stabbed my finger once or twice tonight, even though I had on leather finger protection. Ouch! That hurt.

My pumpkin, while amazing in my mind, isn’t exactly flawless. It could probably stand me stabbing it a bit more to tame some of the fly-away wool fibers.

Once I get the foam mat, I know I am going to jump right into ‘painting with wool.’ I absolutely love the look and feel of it from what I have seen. All the joy of painting, with a lot less mess!

In my order today I received some white core wool, a set of 40 variety of colored wool, the tools needed (essentially the barbed needles, and leather finger protective covers), and a book to guide me in my journey to learning needle felting.

Questions I have at the moment, when is too much poking? Is your project supposed to be firm, or have a little give to it like a stuffed animal? I don’t know yet, but I am going to have to look it up. On the pumpkin I made, the stem is super firm, while there is some slight give to the tiny pumpkin.

I am full of pride that I haven’t yet broken a needle, but I expect it to happen at some point. I just thought it would happen on my first day! Although I have been cautious not to bend the needle while in the wool, so it doesn’t bend/break. I know it is only a matter of time before it breaks.

On the cusp of another year! A birth year!

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That’s right, this holiday weekend will mark my 48th birthday! I can’t believe I am that old, and I am eternally grateful to still be around at this age, and knowing there could still potentially be another 40 years ahead of me.

Here I am, walking in the woods, by my home.

I decided I will mark the occasion by spending it with my parents. Tomorrow, we will ‘hit the town,’ and by that I mean we will go out to dinner, and maybe enjoy a little cake in the evening. I am not married, and do not have children of my own, so this is a common way for me to celebrate.

Tonight we had BLTs, one of our favorites for an early dinner, and I took an early, long walk on our property, enjoying the quiet of the outdoors. I was a little less than excited by the bugs bothering me on the walk, but overall it was a great time.

I was feeling a little restless today.

I had plans to spend the whole weekend catching up on my book, but I haven’t yet picked it up. I have been both excited, and sad that I am turning 48. But only because mortality is often on my mind, and every birthday brings the Grim Reaper closer.

I tried to think back to see if there might be a time in my life that I would rather return to then now, and I realized, even if I was back to most healthiest self, while still in the Army, I would not want to go back in time. I am content with life the way it is – in the PRESENT. I mean, I miss my sister, I wish she was still alive, but otherwise, my life is comfortable.

And really, isn’t that all we can ask for? Being comfortable? Although, I do wonder if I play life a little safe. Holding all my cards, close to my chest. I take fewer risks, my fears of mortality are real, and therefore quite consuming at times. I suppose where I take the most risks now, is in my writing. It’s the only place I know I still put my full heart on display for others – even though it is often just as terrifying.

My dog, Junie Bee.

Tonight, I will work on my writing, maybe write that short story for the Write Michigan Short Story contest. Maybe I’ll finally pick up my book tonight and dive into another story. Maybe I’ll spend a little time focusing on my poetic side. Maybe I’ll just watch a little television. One thing is for sure, I will do it all, with my dog by my side. She is currently sleeping at the end of my bed.

Yes, tomorrow, I will celebrate my last day of my 47th year on this earth, and Monday, I will be 48.

I say it again, and yet, I still don’t feel it. Maybe that is the point though. The point, of emotional maturity. Being able to calmly move from day to day, without the wildness of our younger selves choices getting in the way. Thinking things through before you react. While I have definitely matured over time, I consider myself a constant work in progress.

As I go through the growing pains of rolling into another year of life, I hope you all enjoy your Labor Day weekend with gusto, or maybe your like me and play it a little safe – whatever you do, put your heart into it!

Take care for now,

~Melissa, AKA Aunt Author

The Write Michigan Short Story Contest and other happenings!

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Currently Watching: Harrow on Disney+

Currently Reading: The Hotel Nantucket by Elin Hilderbrand, pg 168

Currently Listening to: The Haunted Windchimes

Tonight’s Dinner: Chicken Parmigiana Frozen Meal

Tonight’s Dessert: Nothing tonight.

Today’s Favorite Moment: I have two: (1) Listening to our dog snoring at my feet & (2) Hearing that my niece say that my writing inspired her a bit, into her own writing journey.

Mood: Thoughtful.

I have been entering in the Write Michigan Short Story Contest for the last two years. I don’t fancy myself winning, but I do love that you sometimes get pretty amazing feedback to your story. I wasn’t sure about entering this year, but then again, why not? I have until November 15, 2026 to get my story entered before they begin reviewing. (That includes writing/editing my story, since I don’t have one started right now.)

I’ve also been a volunteer reviewer/rater of the stories in the past. It is a super fun thing to do, and I do not review or rate stories in the same category that I participate in, sheesh, that would be unethical. I read either the teen/youth categories and I was super pleased with all the great work out there that people submit. It is beyond amazing to see our Michiganders pull together as writers each year and participate. Also, just a mini disclaimer, I am not in any way affiliated with the contest. I just like to try for it every year – I am a huge fan of receiving feedback, which is hard to get from the people closest to you, as they might be a bit biased. It is the only writing contest I have ever entered, although I hope it is not my last.

Once the contest ends, provided I don’t win, I will share the story I wrote with you, but I it needs to stay unpublished until the contest is over.

If you’re a Michigander who likes to write, I highly encourage you to submit your own story – please read the rules. After all, you never know, maybe you’re the next Jane Austin, or Ernest Hemingway?

I think I’ll do some serious brainstorming over the long holiday weekend, and work hard on my short story submission.

Website Updates and Today’s Happenings

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Currently Watching: The Glades on Disney+

Currently Reading: The Hotel Nantucket by Elin Hilderbrand

Dinner: French Lentil Salad

Late Night Snack: Hudsonville’s Peanut Butter Ice Cream

Drink of Choice: Unsweetened Iced Tea – brewed from Lipton’s Black Tea bags.

Today’s Song of Choice: The Haunted Windchimes, Darling Love

Current Mood: Content

You may have noticed I updated my website a bit. I changed the theme around, and decided to share not just reviews from my insatiable reading habit, but also my own poems and short stories. I opted to open up my bookish site to a little more personal reflections from me, as I do my best growing as a person when I am writing.

And if you noticed that I am watching The Glades, as mentioned above, don’t worry I know they canceled this show on a terrible cliffhanger. I am extremely disappointed by that, but I still love the show. “Jim” and “Cassie” were cast perfectly in their roles and I am saddened that I haven’t seen more of either of them in other major roles. Meanwhile though, I am on my second run-through of this show, and getting closer to the cliffhanger ending by the moment. I’m going to be pretty sad when I finally hit that last episode. Anyone else disappointed in the ending of The Glades?

We have been discussing the new regulations of what I’ll call ‘mixed beef,’ on top of the many food-borne illnesses that have popped out lately. It’s enough to make you not trust what you’re getting anymore. The conversation has been ongoing, and I’ll admit, I opted for a plant-based meal for dinner because I couldn’t stomach it any longer. On a side note, the French Lentil Salad was pretty good. Enough that I would actually eat it again – and well, dessert was definitely on point tonight as well.

I was introduced to the sounds of The Haunted Windchimes by my nephew when he shared the song by them called, Out with the crow. I’ll admit I was hooked. I instantly looked up the rest of the album and I am madly in love with their voices. I truly don’t know why they aren’t more well known. They have such a unique vibe.

First Love, a poem.

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You crossed my mind today
as first loves do
I thought of how you looked at me
and how you took me out on
the back of your four-wheeler
I wasn’t scared enough,
you thought.
I wasn’t scared enough.
“A girl like me doesn’t date a guy like you.”
Maybe it is true.
Maybe some girls don’t date you.
But that doesn’t stop us from falling in love
with your ten dollar cologne,
the necklace you wore
the one you gifted me
the way you looked out for me,
the girl who didn’t date guys like you.
I remember when your latest conquest
approached me, surprised me by saying
you told her I was your best friend.
It’s funny that you never told me that.
It’s funny that we were connected and
yet so disconnected
Love that transcends souls
a love that sneaks in against all odds,
all warnings. Or was all of it just
in my head, the result of a vivid imagination
as dreamers dream, and lovers unite,
platonic love imagined as something more?

This is me, for better or worse, a poem.

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I’ve adapted to
cities over time, but now
I prefer the rural sky.

I’ve danced on tables
and in clubs and
drank more than my share
of Mai Tai’s.

Smoked cigars and
cigarettes and partied
all the nights.
I swam with sharks
and flew in planes
I’m shocked
I was once brave.

Now I sit inside my room
frightened of my brain.

Once there was a woman
who felt invincible
then I lost a sibling
and that woman said
“No more.”

Out of Thin Air, a poem.

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Creating something from nothing
is uniquely satisfying in that
you utilized your brain, or your hands,
to create something of your own.
Something unique to you, something
un-recreatable by another because
your hands,
your finger prints,
your mind,
is special
in the way that you brought
it to life. Through words, art, whatever
you choose to create is a part of you
whether you mean to share your soul
with another, you have done so
with complete trust and faith
that they will see the best in you.

Stormy Days, a poem.

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Introduction

There’s something cozy about when the skies turn gray and the darkness closes in. The midnight hour comes at noon and we watch as the sky lights up with brilliant white streaks.

It isn’t so much the weather, as it is the warmth of feeling safe and protected while water pours from the sky raging in Mother Nature’s lair knowing I have the provisions to weather this storm – food, water, shelter, warmth, electricity, company.

Above all the company reminds me I am safe, and even if safety is threatened, I am happy, because I am not alone. We will go through this storm together. We will feel the feels together. We will ride it out together.

Living alone.
I found myself shuddering
in great fear beneath my stairwell,
trembling with the might of a woman
who feared harm to self
or animals, all while listening to the trees
falling down around my home. The wind
carrying it’s own burden along the path
of tornado alley. Choking on my heart
I barricaded the stairwell - locking dogs, cats,
myself within a the closet under the stairs
while contemplating why I bought a house
without a basement in the midwest.

Today, the storm rages within
rather than without - hail pelts
my heart bruising my arteries
as I watch the cloudy sky for 
signs of danger, seeing none,
leaving nothing to chance. 

In the next room, I have
something different. Something necessary.
I have people. People who care. 
People who do not feel the storm
as it wars both within the walls,
and without. People who look
at the sky, and see clouds, not 
the violence hidden within.

People. 

People who remember the storm
is just a storm and not just an ending to 
your story.

Final Thoughts

When I was younger I liked thunderstorms. The invincibility of youth kept me safe and braver than I should ever have been. Somewhere along the way I grew up and learned we are not invincible. People die. People die from horrible things. Our loved ones die. Now I look at the storm differently, as a wild, uncontrollable thing that threatens our safety. What once felt peaceful, now becomes terrifying. While having company around helps, the fear is real. While peace is hard to find in the thunder these days, I do have people. People who don’t feel the fear I do, and that helps. Sometimes that helps a lot, other times I sit in my stairwell and tremble.

Therapy Days, a poem.

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it is difficult to remember
what to tell the counselor.

what story to share –

what day was had –

when you open your mouth
and find the words
you babble like a child
forgotten are the good times
embraced are days of dark
the therapist gives you a technique
that you nod encouragingly over,
in agreement with the plan
two hours later you have forgotten
what you were supposed to learn
and are wondering how
you got it all so wrong

it is difficult to remember
what to tell the counselor.

sometimes the words roll off the tongue
sometimes we blunder through a session
sometimes were scared to tell the truth

we don’t like to hear
something may be wrong with us
we don’t like to know
we are just like everyone else
we don’t like to see
our life’s reflection
shining back at us
in someone else’s eyes

it is difficult to remember
what to tell the counselor.

But it’s harder to live life alone.

Sunday Vibes, a poem.

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Spending a moment outdoors,
to feel the sun on my skin,
breathing the fresh dew in.
Natures humidifier.

Absorbing Cary Grant movies
on Turner Classic like
the cleaning rag soaks up suds.
Meanwhile – I am avoiding my chores.

I sit in my bed, crosslegged,
blanket in my lap,
I muse.
I read.
I write.
Sometimes I scroll.

I think.

My body releases this week’s tension
leaving the sun to heal the skin
and my bed to heal the rest.
The bathroom may remain dirty,
but my soul –
it has been cleansed.