Oh Talent, Where Art Thou?

What a crappy night! I decided at work today, that tonight I would get a huge amount of sewing done on my Burda dress and I also felt a sudden urge to make cinnamon rolls. (It's best to not question my urges).
This also meant I would not run tonight. I ran 5 miles last night when it was almost 50 degrees but we got that hideous wind and ice storm today that brought the temps down into the teens. I can run in any temperature but not in high winds.
How much sewing did I get done?
2 darts and 2 shoulder seams.
I kid you not!
And then when I pressed the shoulder seams, I melted the inner-lining on the upper back bodice! I hate crappy polyester organza. I thought organza was supposed to take heat! And like I've stated before, JoAnn's only carries polyester everything. I asked my local JoAnn's store if they had batiste (which is what I wanted for the inner-lining) and of course they don't. My iron wasn't even that hot. Luckily it didn't melt to the fashion fabric.
In the meantime I found a recipe on the internet for cinnamon rolls.
I knew I had to make these rolls as it was one of those old secret, family recipes. You know what I mean. One of those recipes that everyone begged Dear Old Aunt Martha to PLEASE bring to every family function. The recipe that everyone feared would go to the grave with Dear Old Aunt Martha. The recipe that the author swore she got off of Dear Old Aun Martha while Dear Old Aunt Martha was on her death bed (who probably only coughed it up after the author willfully deprived poor Dear Old Aunt Martha of her morphine).

Using rapid rise yeast I whipped up a batch of Dear Old Aunt Martha's cinnamon rolls.
While the rolls were baking I shot into the sewing room to sew 2 shoulder seams, 2 darts, and melt my inner-lining.
Back in the kitchen, I yanked my cinnamon rolls out of the oven.
Dear Old Aunt Martha (no doubt in retaliation of the morphine denial) had the last laugh.
These rolls are plain old blah.
Totally tasteless.
The glaze which is simply made out of powdered sugar, vanilla, and milk, tastes like powdered sugar, vanilla, and milk!
The rolls, which should be thick, and heavy, and dripping with butter and cinnamon are slightly dry and taste oddly artificial.
How difficult is it to ruin cinnamon rolls?
Well, give me a go at them and I'll show you.


I hate not being good at anything.


It's depressing.


My mother can do anything. Her sewing is couture quality, her baking incredible. At 72 she still makes hundreds of dozens of cookies each Christmas. Years ago she used to bake and decorate cakes as a job and she was eons ahead of others with her techniques and ideas (And she managed to do all of this while suffering from manic depression). As a waitress I inwardly cringe at the wedding cakes I see at the functions I work, as they don't begin to measure up to my mother's standards. She still cooks all the holiday meals and the dining room table groans under the load of delicious food it's forced to hold.

My older sister is an unbelievable artist. Even in high school she would draw caricatures of the neighbors, and use pastels to create incredible life like drawings of our pets. Strangely, she would hide these drawings and we would wait till she was out of the house to sneak a peek at them. Why she ended up majoring in anthropology in college is beyond me.

My middle daughter's IQ is considered to be 'gifted', and with no effort what so ever was an amazing short stop for her High School softball team and still holds the home run record. She could have played college softball but wouldn't because she said she only played it for fun. (She's also one the most hard headed, stubborn people you will ever meet!)
My youngest daughter who is a Freshman in college was a starting Varsity soccer keeper this year, works 3 part time jobs and manages to keep a 3.08 GPA. (But she can't for the life of her pick up after herself!).
But before this starts sounding like one of those awful Christmas card updates from your horrid friends who brag ad nauseam about their families, it's not.
I just want to be good at something.

Anything.

I can't sing, I'm not artistic, I obviously am not an inspired sewist, I can't make a simple batch of cinnamon rolls, my metabolism doesn't work properly, and I suspect I was switched at birth.


I think I might be really good at throwing a pity party though.

But dammit, I will finish that stupid dress. I think I need to realize my limits and stick to easier projects in the future or at some point find a place that offers lessons. I've found that I learn better by example. I will call my mother tomorrow and ask her where the hell I went wrong with the cinnamon rolls.
And then I'll just try to remember that not everyone has a talent.
The world needs average people.

Those also serve, who stand and wait.
That's me.