Despite the gale-force winds that have plagued Brighton for the past two days, I had a rather nice weekend. If nothing else, I was happy that Jeremy didn’t have to go off to London as he’s had to do the past two weekends; even if we don’t do anything special over the weekend, it’s still pleasant to have someone around to sip coffee with in the mornings.

I actually spent a good deal of this weekend getting crafty. Every year when the holiday season rolls around, I think I’m going to be really diligent and make presents for everybody instead of buying them. But every year I leave it until it’s too late and/or I can’t think of anything to make and/or I realize that there are really only so many knitted and/or beaded things you can reasonably give to people (guys in particular).

Unfortunately, I’m no better at buying presents for people than I am at making them. I can’t see the point of buying something just for the sake of having a present to give, but I really struggle to come up with presents that I think will be meaningful to other people. I fear that this indicates some terrible self-centeredness on my part. I mean, if you really take note of other people’s interests, then you should be able to come up with gifts that both surprise and delight them, no? So why is it that when it comes time for me to find a present for someone I think I know pretty well, I draw a blank and suddenly feel as if I don’t know the person at all because I can’t imagine what they might like?

In any case, I’ve decided that it’s better to put my heart into making something imperfect than it is to buy something flawless but soulless. So for the past two afternoons, I’ve turned our dining room table into a craft table, and I’ve had great fun making a huge mess with paper, glitter and glue. And if the end result is something slightly wonky or odd, then so be it. It’s all part of that handmade, homespun charm—or at least that’s what I keep telling myself…