Day Eighty: The house always feels a bit naked when the bunting comes down.
**I’m still moving the studio. I’ve been waylaid by a faulty water-heater. Repair people are working to haul out the damage; but until they’re done, I can’t move anything more into my space without crawling over them.
Day Seventy-nine: Darling IZ said if I put my fabric into laundry baskets, he would carry them down the 2 flights of stairs for me. I love him.
Day Seventy-seven: But it’s a pretty nothing.
It’s chaos here. IZ and I have spent the day pushing through on the new studio. We even moved the huge hutch down the two narrow flights of stairs and I began painting it. That was very scary—since it’s heavy and cumbersome and the glass feels precariously hung.
But that means you can now add my old studio to places in my house where chaos reigns. I’m trying hard not to cry and let it get to me. Seriously, I do not function well with every space in “move” mode. It’s not the mess as much as the vibe that gets to me; I abhor moving and even an in-house swap makes me break out in hives.
So, no photos of the chaos. And there will be no photos of me in my painting clothes either… since the elastic in my pants is shot and I end up with an endless case of plumber’s crack. Nobody wants to see that!
IZ is convinced that the bulk of the move will be done by tomorrow. Presently, I’m choosing to embrace his delusions because it beats melting-down. In the meantime, I’m going to drink some wine, look at the pretty flowers, and try to breathe.
Breathing is good.
Day Seventy-six: Photo props left in the window.
Boy Wonder: (walking past the remains of a photo shoot) Mom! That’s not a dead bird! Is it?
Me: Yes, it is a dead bird. I just went outside and whacked the first black bird of a specific size over the head. You know, so I could take a pretty picture. Don’t you think people will want to buy my candles more if there are recently deceased birds in the product shots?
Ok, I didn’t really say that.
Seriously? Dead bird? Where does he get this stuff? I cannot roll my eyes further into my head without risking brain injury. There is entirely too much sarcasm and not enough common sense in this house.
Day Seventy-five: The marine layer is creeping back once again. But yesterday’s sunset will hold me for quite some time. I caught it just as it was ending. . . and even so, it’s beautiful.
Day Seventy-four: Deconstructed
So, it’s been a day. A day of undoing. Considering that I’m feeling a bit undone, it’s in keeping I think. I spent the better part of the day fretting about my bead investment, after realizing that I really don’t like the pendant quality. It feels clunky. And Mireio is a lot of things, but I’m hoping clunky isn’t one of them.
Which meant a decision to either abandon the project or wade deeper in— oh come on, y’all should know by now which path I took. I’m predictable on that front.
I found another solution. Or, at least a possible one. And promptly fell into a deep funk after paying for the supplies. Let’s just say the proto-types of this endeavor are not going to be a money making venture.
Of course if I’m conflicted and tortured about something, I don’t suffer alone. I’m sure there are days IZ wishes he didn’t work from home. I tormented him with my angst over coffee and he found me hours later in my funk feeling sorry for myself.
“But you felt this way when you started with buckwheat, and you felt this way when you went to the new glass for candles. You should really trust your instincts more.”
Yes, yes I should. I took the scissors to the necklaces, sorting out the reusable components and trying not to calculate my losses. Taking things apart is never as much fun as putting them together.
Day Seventy-three: A summer skirt or two.
Ok, it’s not for me, and technically I didn’t sew it. But I did supervise its construction. In fact, I supervised the construction of two, since Miss Faith also made a skirt along with her sister Miss Sara. And yes, I call them that. I have no idea why, I just do.
We picked out fabric and wouldn’t you know that the ONLY black jersey was some awful fake velvet that Miss Faith just Had. To. Have. (Oh don’t get me started on our local JoAnnes) And sometimes, you have to give in to the whims of a pre-teen, because she is nearly 13 and well, she wanted it. Who cares if it costs too much (for such terrible fabric) and who cares if you’ll spend the day cursing under your breath. The smile on a certain pre-teen’s face is worth the frustration.
So we sewed. All day. Other than cut the fabric (Yum, JERSEY FROM HADES) I made them do everything but the final pinning of Sara’s ruffle and pressing and pinning Faith’s hem. We used a pattern from Sew, Mama, Sew! and it’s just wonderful. Easy, straightforward, the perfect “pattern” for a new sewer. They both got a taste of success, which is necessary when you’re first learning. Right? You want to be able to sit down and actually make something.
I’d call it a successful first sewing lesson. And, you bet, I’m crossing off “Make Summer Skirt” off my list. Twice.
Day Seventy-two: This might be worse than fabric.
Day Seventy: Still green
My little victory garden isn’t feeling too victorious. My plants have only a few tiny starts and those are still completely green. I’m beginning to think that short of a really hot September, we aren’t going to see homegrown tomatoes this year.
Day Sixty-eight: Pumpkin pie with vampire test holes.
I’m not sure why, but I woke up today with the urge to make pumpkin pie. Do you ever have days like that? I do and they don’t usually come to much because the day typically gets away from me. But today I was determined. Good thing too, because while I might have been jonesing for pumpkin pie the Universe was having nothing to do with it.
First up was the realization that I needed evaporated milk. Which meant yet another trip to the grocery store. I have real issues with trekking across town for just one item, so wine and bread and cheese also made the list with one can of evaporated milk. No worries, just a little trip to the grocery store, I still have my pie making mojo! Upon returning home I set to work.
Now, my recipe is a double. So that means, unless you half it, you’re making two pies. I know this. I told myself this at the onset, “Self! Pay attention! You need to half everything*.”
I promptly measured out the all the spices and then looked at the sugar. “Half it!” And I did… good girl, Wende. Except, as I mixed it altogether, the color starts to tip me off. Homer Simpson moment, “D’oh!” I forgot to half the spices.
