Busy Busy

The Go West Craft Fest is this Saturday (weather permitting; right now it's looking like it might rain, in which case it will occur on Sunday).

Needless to say that has meant frantic sewing, cutting, swearing and maybe the tiniest bit of imbibing to get me in line for the event.

The worst part is the finishing.  I get things 90% done, get a bright idea and start on the next item, blithely saying, "Oh, I can knock that [whatever it is] out in 10 minutes when the time comes."

Well, the time has come, and now I'm stitching labels on items, making and adding bow ties to 8 stuffed bears, running the lint roller over everything before it gets boxed up, taking photos and wondering where, oh, where I put the cash box and receipts from the last show I did.

It's somewhere in this house.

Let's not talk about the state of the house.  I'll clean it after the craft show, I promise.

I leave you with a few goodies from the upcoming weekend.  Those that don't sell will be listed in my Etsy shop within a day or two.

Fingers crossed that there's not much left to list and I have to start making all over again.

My little corner of the farm

Friday was my last day of work.

Tonight, reality is starting to sink in.  It's a pretty damn good reality.

In addition to all the other things I need to do to get the Useful & Beautiful up and running, there will a lot more gardening going on.  (I didn't calculate this move to occur in April on a whim!).

Here's the useful part of the back yard, as opposed to the beautiful part.  (Though function can be as beautiful as form, in its own way).  Chicken coop, extension, cold frame (with pea, bean and lima seedlings inside), some random rubble, water storage barrels behind and the compost system on the right behind the coop.

One bad chicken, right behind the coop door.  Enjoying being an only hen.  What kind of flock animal is she, anyway?

The bright green leaves in the left front corner are the blueberry bushes, which are leafing out like crazy.  Once berries start forming, I'll net them so that we get more than the birds.  Between chicken compost and nets, we did really well last year from 4 bushes.  Would love more, but space is really limited.

Have a great week, everyone.  I'll be in my workroom, making that sewing machine smoke.

Leap accomplished

And now the reality of the situation is beginning to sink in.

I have one week between now and the Go West Craft Fest to finish a multitude of partially-finished items.  It's going to be such a treat to work at this full-on instead of in bits and pieces in the evenings or at the lunch table in the office.

Too many projects, not enough photographs, so I leave you with a shot of the grape hyacinths blooming in my back yard.  Such a wonderful, saturated blue.  I need to make something this color.

It's the little things

I spend way too much time thinking of ways to organize my workroom.  Shelves are fine, if you can be bothered to put the fabric back on them.

Bins are lovely, if you put the right things in them.

Magazine binders are great, but somewhat pointless if the contents are not the same as what's on the label.

In other words, I am a hopeless slob constantly in search of organization.

And today I found one thing that works.

Or at least I hope it will.  There's nothing else in the room that I can think of as a good mis-use for this little doodad, which is made of fairly soft rubber and is meant for nothing in the world but to organize my bobbins and keep them from rolling all over the table, the floor and anywhere else the cats think to send them once they're down.

We went down to 4th Street today, still known somewhat optimistically as Fabric Row.  I had to pick up some buttons, and I remembered the last time we were down there I'd seen this organizer in Zoll's.  I'd thought about it off and on since then but couldn't commit to the $8 that it cost.

Except sometimes $8 isn't $8, it's neatness, no missing bobbins and not stepping on one in my bare feet, which is a pain just short of Lego.

For those who know Fabric Row, there's a new gap on the street: Jack B's, a corner shop so stuffed with fabric that it was more like a rabbit's den than a store, burned last Saturday evening, taking with it the shop next door and a Philadelphia fireman.  Everyone got out safely, except for the captain (and possibly one apartment cat, though Red Paw, Philly's emergency pet rescue, is still searching for her).  We saw the building today, partly collapsed, burned bolts of fabric scattered everywhere.

One more day

until I'm a free woman and have to face the plans I've made.

I.

Can't.

Wait.

Last Hen Standing. Again.

Somehow, once again, I have an only chicken.

And once again, it's Bonnie.  I'm beginning to think it's a plot.

We lost Gilda to the heatwave last June, and it took me until August or so to find Bertha, a non-laying but gorgeous Buff Orpington to share the pen with her.

The night Bertha arrived, she asserted her dominance - and broader breast - by sitting on Bonnie and squashing her.

I'm beginning to wonder how long Bonnie plotted her revenge before she struck on Monday and tore a big chunk out of Bertha's wattle (the dangly bits under and around her beak).  It didn't look bad, but I knew that there was a chance Bonnie would go after her again; chickens have a bit of blood lust and they're certainly not vegetarian.  I cleaned Bertha up and put some ointment on the wound, thinking that it would make her less tasty, if not in less discomfort.

Yesterday things were fine, and I thought Bonnie had gotten over her snit.  Tonight when I got home from work, Bertha was dead in the coop.  The wound looked like it had been pecked again, but for her to die of that wound it should have looked like the set of a Sopranos episode, and it didn't.  Infection from the first wound?  Age?  Short chicken lifespan that was already disrupted by being attacked by a raccoon almost two years ago?

We'll never know.  The one thing I'm pretty sure of at this point is that Bonnie's not getting another roommate.  I don't care if it wasn't her fault; I'm thinking coq au vin right now, and she doesn't need to push me any closer to the cookbook.

Leap

Sometimes your only available transportation is a leap of faith.

I saw that recently on Facebook, where we get all our pithy sayings and wisdom these days.

It fits, though. As of last Friday, I've begun a two week countdown to my last day at (hopefully) my last job.  Or at least my last office job.

I've made things all my life, for little or no money, because no one ever seems to want to pay what my time is worth. Why am I so much more valuable sitting in a cubicle typing than I am when I'm using my hands and my brain and my creativity to make something?

I'm not complaining.  For the last few years, I've been selling some of my handmade items at a local shop and some local craft shows, and I'm in a larger show this year that I'm very excited about.  And that's been accomplished while treating my crafting as a part-time, several nights a week evening job.

So this is my challenge: what can I do with this business, this thing that I do, if I treat it like real job?

Stay tuned.