CREATIVITY

CREATIVITY

The verb “Create” means to bring something into existence 

We are created by our birth so it’s my belief that all human beings are born with a strong urge to be creative, but, in order to stay creative we have to get a goodly and constant supply of “Wows”. As a child, these “Wows” are often fueled by an outside influence such as a parent or a teacher, but the best kind of “Wows’ are those that are encouraged from within.

Creativity is not limited to painting works of art, or designing a wedding dress, or building an architectural masterpiece.  It can be found in a little bit of metal or wood that just fits and enables a damaged motor to run, or picture to hang straight, or a space craft to stay aloft.  Creativity is the art of lateral thinking, the art of wondering, and what today is often referred to as “thinking outside the box”.

When we were young our Covey did a lot of “thinking outside the box”. Mainly because we didn’t have a box, certainly not the box that toys came in. If playing is a dress rehearsal for life then we were certainly getting ready for a life of creativity.  Our games were fueled with imagination rather than electricity.  Outside games involved physical activity and inside games often centred around paper and pencil, or bits of string, or found stones.  The only limitations being what else could we do with them?

It’s certainly obvious that one of our members absorbed these playing lessons very well as evidenced by the following story:

It was a time of much importance.  It concerned the first visit of LB’s in-laws to this lovely land of Canada.  The usual preparations were well in hand.  House was cleaned from top to bottom.  Lawn was mowed and garden was spruced.  Food was bought in large quantities.  There were just a couple of items still on the “To Do” list.  A rod was required for a bedroom drape that needed hanging, and a welcoming cake needed to be baked.  Both of these jobs had LB’s initials beside them.  After all he was in the construction trade and he was a trained baker.

The day started out fine.  The cake had risen beautifully and was cooling on the kitchen counter prior to being iced with marzipan and frosting.

LB decided it was good time to start on his other job of hanging the drapes.

As it happened that was not a good decision.  You see at that time there was another member of the family that has so far not been mentioned.  

His name was Toby.  Toby was a very large, very lovable black dog that liked cake. Well actually, he liked cake and any other food that was available, and to Toby’s nose and eyes that cake on the counter was available, so he took a bite!

That was just about the time when LB strolled into the kitchen feeling good that he had finished installing the drapes.  

From what I’m told he exploded in the only way that LB could explode, so I won’t go into details of that.  Instead, I will concentrate on the creative part of this story.

Had this happened to me I’m pretty sure that after I’d finished crying, the cake would have landed in the garbage with a thud.  Not so with LB.

I wish I had a picture of that cake, because it became a piece de resistance, a work of art. You know the expression: “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade”, well he certainly made lemonade!

The guests were enthralled with the cake.  Never had they (or anyone else) seen anything like it.

There it stood in all its Canadian majesty: NIAGARA HORSESHOE FALLS in royal icing!  Everyone wholeheartedly agreed it deserved all the “Wows” it received.  

Many also agreed that it tasted wonderful.  Of course there were others who explained they were overstuffed and would come back to it later – much later!

Getting to know you, getting to know all about you.

EVERYONE ENJOYS A GOOD PARTY, DON’T THEY?

I guess it’s reasonable that this being November I should be thinking about LLB.  After all, November 10^th is the day he was born.

This particular memory is dated many years after that.  It’s when he and his young bride were introduced to Canada.  At that time Australia was offering immigrants passage via a beautiful cruise like ship to their lovely warm southern country for the paltry sum of ten pounds sterling.  Imagine, all those days at sea with meals thrown in! 

Canada however had its own incentive.   You didn't even need 10 pounds. Canada would underwrite the fare for an immigrant to get here by any method of transportation.  There was a small catch however: the fare advance had to be paid back with interest.  Such was the method used by LLB.  This choice was enough to send the remaining three siblings who were already here into a frenzied fit of creativity.  It was reasoned that this paucity of funds had to be acknowledged and what better way than to throw a welcoming party that would highlight this situation.

So was born the “Tramp Party”.

Invitations were extended to a wide group of friends; all good party aficionados who could be guaranteed to follow the instructions to the letter.  They were instructed to arrive dressed in their very best “down and out, hobo, tramp like” clothing.

The party decorations as I recall included newspapers as table cloths, and newly purchased ceramic chamber pots held peanuts and other snacks. The glasses for drinks were mismatched and very unsightly.  I may not remember all the little details that went into the planning for this event but I’ll never forget the outfits that made it to my townhouse basement.

One very hilarious gent came as a boating captain with jaunty cap and rumpled untidy jacket with gold coloured buttons.  However, the shirt beneath was made of paper and only covered a small portion of the front of his chest.

LS’s husband looked the most tramp like of all wrapped as his legs were in newspapers – maybe to keep out the cold.  

LS and her friend “K” were undoubtedly the belles of the ball.  They had made special long - elegant dresses with strategically torn areas.  These dresses were teamed with gloves and large raggedy hats.  Not that either Belle could ever look ugly but they did their best by blackening a few teeth.

The evening was a great success but it must have been an eye opener for the new arrivals from England, especially later in the evening.

Not everyone knew each other very well; some may only have been passing acquaintances.  Nevertheless, as the evening progressed and the liquor flowed, relationships became more open, more knowing.  This discerning and recognizing was started with an interaction between LS and the sham boating captain.  She, in a spirit of style and to be sure that everyone looked their very best, approached said captain with the suggestion that the jacket pocket sitting outside his jacket “looked very untidy”.  Then, before he could say “What?”  she had removed the offending pocket by tearing it off.

Did he say “Thank you”? No he did not.

He took it upon himself to do some styling of his own.

It seems that those “strategically torn areas” were a tremendous temptation for a man who had just had his carefully planned attire decimated.  He applied a crooked finger to one such area as he remarked:  “You seem to have a tear in your dress, dear lady.”  Before removing his bent finger he gave it a bit of a tug making the tear a good deal larger.  This of course led LS to laughingly attack his paper shirt.   And so it began. 

The next part of the evening had definitely not been planned although the behavior of the other guests belied that.  Everyone joined in the fun.  That’s everyone but the two guests of honour.  They had not been told of the dress requirements so thankfully came normally attired which saved them from any attempts of styling.  This must have been a blessing for the young bride who we later discovered to be a good deal shyer than our Covey of Cockneys.

I’ve never had what you would call a large closet full of clothes, but after that evening it was decidedly smaller because so many of my guests needed coverage to make their way home.