We are genetically unsuited for crafting. Hailing from a direct line of butchers, coal miners, milkmen and telephone linemen, we come from people whose strong hands wrapped comfortably around cleavers, chisels, steel and spikes.
We’ve neither the patience nor the daintiness necessary for beautiful scrapbooking, embroidery or etching.
My sweet little niece and I once aborted the mission midway through painting a plate for her mom because I could not execute a proper hand print and she really wanted to go to the park.
So, when Molly and I heard ourselves volunteering to make gift baskets for a giant family reunion, our eyes met in perfect telepathy.
“What are we thinking?”
But, thanks to the generously stocked Hobby Lobby shelves, a little bit of teamwork, and a fond appreciation for our home state, we put together a decent display.
Oh, there were detours — who knew it would be so difficult to peel the back off double-sided tape?
And the enormous batch of granola we baked yielded pretty skimpy bags once we divided it 19 ways.
But, overall, we’re pretty happy with the little bags we put together because one thing we did learn from our Eastern European grandparents is this: food is love.