For the most part, I no longer schedule back to back craft shows because they just beat me up too much, and usually by the second day I don't have the strength for people.
But this weekend was an exception on several fronts.
One of my best friends turned 50 this past week, and her party was Friday night. They were having a house concert, so we decided we would eat dinner at home, stop there for about an hour, and duck out before the music started. Nothing against potential music we didn't know, but it always feels rude to leave before it's done and I wanted to get home early.
Instead, we went early, assuming we would scavenge food there, enjoyed the entire concert, and hung around chatting afterward. needless to say, I woke up Saturday morning with a sparkling rosé induced spike in my forehead. I can't believe I used to do that for fun up until 20 years ago. Also, just like 20 years ago, I didn't eat enough.
After breakfast and much coffee, I set up in West Philadelphia for show number one. It had rained the night before; it was chilly and damp; I didn't get a single sale for the first hour. And then the sun came out and the customers came out and it was bedlam until 5:00 p.m.
That evening, I was supposed to go to an art opening in my town - where my pandemic lap quilt was on display - but because craft show number two was the next morning, I decided that it even vaguely intelligent woman would stay home, reload the car for the next day, and get some decent sleep. Which I did, except for a bit of last-minute sewing.
Sunday was busier, and yet less profitable than Saturday, in part because the Eagles game overlapped nad then went into hyper-dramatic overtime. But it was in my town, so that meant when it ended at 6:00 p.m., our car was loaded by 6:15 and we were in the driveway by 6:30.
Dinner and a glass of wine later, and I was ready for bed. I unpacked the car Monday morning as Mario was getting ready for work.
I'm definitely getting too old for this, and yet I have two more doubleheaders scheduled before the end of the year. Yay me.