During the years when my children were small, in school, and not too interested in my life in general, I occupied my leisure time with hobbies. Hobbies that enlisted the help of our five children, various pets, neighbors, friends, relatives and on a few occasions, my husband even consented to participate in one of my wild flings. There have been times when the hobby of the day included just me. Regardless of the number of players, most of these leisure time activities of mine resulted in the same short-lived, non-productive end.

  To best explain why I became a hobby freak is simply to say that when my husband and I were married, we blended together a brood of five young children, all within three years of age. After the first couple of years, the novelty of our family situation passed and reality set in. Close on the heels of reality arrived confusion, disorganization, and a mother who seemed to be tired all the time.

  “You need a hobby,” my thoughtful husband suggested.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “I do need a hobby. Something that would be interesting to do on my own time, and maybe even earn a little extra money, which would certainly come in quite handy. Maybe I could even become famous.” The name of several world famous women came to mind. Why not me? I spent several afternoons that week lying on the sofa thinking about it.

  It was at this point I discovered my first two hobbies; afternoon naps and soap operas. With the kids in school all day, finally, and the house quiet and peaceful, I learned to relax. At first my delightful naps were of a brief duration and usually concluded with a delicious cup of coffee. With these few minutes to myself, I was ready for the after school rush.

  Hobbies, however, are addictive and soon my short naps were replaced with afternoon sleeps. I’ll never know just how long this hobby would have continued because then I discovered the afternoon soaps.

  Perhaps feeling a little guilty about my sleep periods, I decided to preform useful chores while watching TV. This worked well for a short time until it became necessary to do all my daily work in the TV room. It was then that I discovered knitting.

  Knitting is a good hobby. It is creative and useful and I plunged in and created four pairs of slippers. The fifth pair was not as much fun. I was bored and the kids weren’t crazy about wearing knitted slippers with large wooly balls on the fronts. My husband threatened to leave me if I presented him with a pair. I hid the ball of brown yarn. Then I met Pat.

  Pat was a neighbor. She loved music and could play a great assortment of stringed instruments plus the piano. She suggested I learn the guitar and loaned me one of hers. This seemed like a marvelous and very creative idea. I pictured myself astride a high stool, guitar slung across my body, plucking tune after tune to the delight of friends and family. I even recall a bit of fantasy about fame and fortune. Working hard to master my new hobby, Pat and I practiced almost daily. I listened to all the Peter, Paul and Mary and the Kingston Trio music I was able to find. Pat accompanied me on guitar, piano and banjo. It was wonderful and I was impressed with our new musical career. At my suggestion, we invited our husbands and kids to our first concert. This affair took place in my living room. Perched on a stool, guitar slung across my chest, I played my heart out. During the second song the kids drifted off to play elsewhere.  Our husbands were polite and stayed to the bitter end when Pat’s husband reminded her that he had to get up early for work. They left.

  Then I asked the burning question. “Well, honey, what did you think?” He was tactful. “It was good, very (a long hesitation) good.” It was the same tone he used when informed the neighbor’s nephew was now potty trained. So much for fame, fortune and the guitar.

  The holiday season was approaching anyway, so I gave the guitar back to Pat, and my sister-in-law, Sharon, and I started making Christmas tree decorations with Styrofoam balls, sequins, glass beads and tiny bits of ribbon. That hobby died after our dog ate a half bag of sequins. The dog lived, but that hobby died!

  From there I tried sports. Skating was too difficult and fishing gave me a bad sunburn. Jogging made me sweat, which I was not keen on doing. Exercise was boring even when friends participated with me. Nothing but the weeds survived in my first garden and the kids did not appreciate my French cooking attempts.

  Suddenly, I found a new hobby. I became a hooker. I hooked rugs and wall hangings for my parents, my in-laws, my brothers, and their wives. I hooked a large eagle rug for my husband’s office. I hooked seat covers and toilet paper covers. I covered paper baskets, flower pots and wine bottles. I even hooked rugs for each of the kids. That was probably my longest lasting hobby. So far I hadn’t earned a dime.

  I worked so hard at hooking I burned myself out on that project. But it was wonderful while it lasted. To this day, nearly everyone I know has at least one reminder of my years as a hooker.

  As a family project, we tried our hands at raising tropical fish. We had reasonably good luck with this, but tiny fish have a way of expiring, unexpectedly, and the wails and tears of broken-hearted daughters finally got to me.

  Next, I took up sewing and made two skirts and an eight piece set of yellow terry cloth seat covers for my pool furniture. My mother had to come to my rescue with the covers, and one of the skirts made me look awfully fat. There had to be something I was good at and could enjoy.   For my birthday that year, my dear, patient husband gave me an electric typewriter (to remind you, this was before the computer era) and fixed up a small room just for me. Now I had a real hobby. I am going to be a famous writer. I know I can do this. It’s what I always wanted to do. The money I make will surely come in handy and I have lots of spare time now. Somewhere between the afternoon naps and the yellow pool furniture covers, the kids all grew up. I don’t think I need a hobby any more. What I want now, is a career and I can devote a lot of time to my new career of writing. This time I will become famous.