I am so pisscited!

Years ago, exhibiting at a show in Virginia, a customer came in with a young girl skipping, twisting, looking, saying over and over as she clung to her aunt's hand, "I am so pisscited! I am so pisscited!" If it included a knot in her stomach and a little buzz in her ears, then so am I.

I have turned the towel business into two separate pages; one with instructions and one with towels available for sale. I hope it is self explanatory, but if not, please ask me. I set up a separate email account for towels, to be sure those emails do not get mixed into and maybe lost in all the other email.

everythingoldisnew2019@gmail.com

I just received a shipment from Brassard of thirty four colors to weave into towels. I have enough of each color to make a dozen towels.

That is the good news. The less desirable news is, I have no loom. I expect the big exchange to occur this coming week. I certainly hope so. This certainly is not the optimum start to a fledgling business, but, it is what it is. 

I will pack orders in the order received. I certainly expect to run out. There only are fifty six towels on the shelf at the moment.

If you see any glaring errors, or a way I could better say what I have to say, please feel free to suggest a correction.

Playing it by ear

Late, late last fall I took pity on the Gerbera daisy at the bottom of the steps.

It bloomed constantly all summer, and there it was in barely past freezing temps, overnight and all day long, trying, trying to maintain a new bud. Somehow I hoisted all twenty or thirty pounds of it, and got it into the house, one step at a time.

From then to now I have enjoyed the two red daisies, and trimmed the leaves as they yellowed.

I took my scissors this morning to tackle the dwindling number of leaves. and there are two more little buttons, peering up so hopefully. "Thanks for bringing us in from the cold!" Those two daisies have been in bloom going on six weeks now, in spite of the diminishing foliage.

It's enough to drive me to Google, for a crash course on my responsibility to the little thing. So far I have learned it has so many deep roots I probably cannot repot it. That wasn't going to happen, outdoors or in.

I should give them plant food regularly. I wonder if that would have kept their leaves growing? Another "it ain't gonna happen". When the blossoms are done, it may rebloom. It may not. And more useless information on the care and feeding of the gerbera I brought in from the cold.

Then I walked around back, in search of dead leaves.

And here we have new little daisy number three. I thought I was being kind to the extreme when I hauled those two current blooms in from the cold. Now, who's killing who with kindness? I expect in the end I will have three (or more) stalwart flowers, standing alone in a pot of dirt. Wait, excuse me, that was good potting soil.

My heart says "What an amazing trip!"

I knew my grandson was off to Vietnam, with his bicycle in a bag. He left Thanksgiving day. He intends to ride the Ho-Chi-Min trail. Today I thought, it's been a week, and give or take a couple of days in the air and clearing customs, France still must be a day or two down the road. So, I checked in. In irrepressible France mode, he's on day three. Or perhaps he's sleeping. 

France is an interesting and quirky fellow. I'd say he's a hundred years removed from his time, but he's too easy with the electronic world for that to be true. He will be celebrating his eighteenth birthday on the road. Christmas eve, in fact. You might be interested in his adventures, and he's putting his travels to electronic pen and ink.  We're just two days in, so go on back and start at day one. 

And back to my adventures, little to report. A few odds and ends to gather up for the Township Bazaar come Saturday, and a few more than that to lift the curtain on the little shop of towels and some more when I get out of bed on Monday. 

I think, since I don't get up any earlier than I must, I may lift the curtain on my way to bed Sunday night, and hope I am a real shopkeeper come Monday morning.

A lovely offer

My daughter, Beth, came to visit a couple of weeks ago. She hasn't seen my new "digs" yet. I asked her to tighten a screw on the Artistat I'm currently using for weaving, and in the course of the discussion I said how I wished I still had the counterbalance Mira I donated to Praxis, several years ago. It is a workhorse, and I'm afraid I'm beating the little Artistat to death.

That entire gift had come about because Beth, and the studio owner are friends. Out came her phone, and Beth asked if the Mira were available as a trade back. Jessica said "Yes, your mom should have her loom back." That probably will happen next week. We got it out of the old house only with the removal of the treadle bar, and I do hope we can get it in here the same way. And I am so grateful to Jessica.

The counterbalance Mira in the old studio. Isn't she a beauty!

I've just finished listening to The Old Curiosity Shop. It may be a Dickens I never read. Brain injury notwithstanding, I have no recollection, no clue of this book in the past. I was in no way impressed, except one. In fact, I almost gave up, before coming to the bit that engrossed me.

I'm sorry I don't know Mark Twain's opinion of the book. Mark Twain advised, on writing, if there is a character the author no longer knows how to handle, just take that character out back and push him down the well.

Actually, I felt that is what Dickens did with Little Nell. He certainly wrapped up a good deal of plot and action in that last chapter, including disposing of villain Quilp by drowning. But the center of the book, the tale of Grandfather's downfall by gambling, borrowing, gambling I found so well characterized it clutched at me. I could have used a trigger warning.

Which set me thinking about "trigger warnings".

On Thanksgiving Day, my neighbor and I saw Knives Up!  The only review I read of the film before I saw it was a Times Opinion piece that felt the film played fast and loose with illegal immigration, and we, or at least she, should have been given a trigger warning.

I hearken back to reading Lord of the Flies, the last quarter of which I read only enough of each page to ascertain Jack remained alive. To this day I have not reread the book. That's been fifty some years. I dealt with it, satisfactorily enough to progress through life. No one, especially no college professor, gave trigger warnings.

Another beautiful day

Not kidding; it got to near sixty today. Sad the days are so short to enjoy it. And shorter every day!

This stopped me as I passed the door this morning.There was so much sunshine, my Nike N's were illuminated and reflected in the storm door glass. I could not make this up!

I went out for a haircut after lunch. Oh, the traffic. I pass two nearby high schools, still in session. I assume their dear parents are still at work. It's not black Friday, and no one takes a day off work to do Thanksgiving shopping. Yet I was ten cars back at the four way stop, and the roads were just as congested.

I asked Melanie when I got to the shop. Everyone chimed in that it must be all the traffic exiting the freeway because of a bad accident. I can't find any news of said crash, and I got home with nicely sheared hair, so all is well.

I called my sister today to see how her township bazaar plans are progressing, and, well, they have not. A couple of weeks ago, as we drove to Seville to deliver towels, she regaled me with her husband's recent adventure of being rear-ended so hard his great red truck was driven into the car ahead of himself. By a youngster, texting, who exited her car with her thumbs still flying on the phone. Let me guess: "OMG! I was in an accident. I'm OK."

All week Jan and Tom have shopped for a car; Tom's truck was totaled by the insurance company. The end of an era; the man has been driving a truck, aka The Mobile Living Room, for nigh onto fifty years.

Tom was persuaded from a truck, which simply causes nieces and nephews and more to borrow both the vehicle and the person, for moving.

I said it would be an easy move in for me; a shopping bag of towels in each hand. Jan laughed. She anticipated two tubs of things to sell. She will ask Tom. They will fit in the new SUV.