lampwork
I fired up my torch today. This is important, because I was scared of it. Still am, a bit. It goes whoosh. I’m not a playing-with-fire kinda gal. But I am a glass freak, and behind any glass there’s fire, so that’s where I need to be.
I’ve known this since I made a trip to Arizona a couple of years ago and spent some time wandering around Bisbee for some reason. Providentially I stumbled upon the shop of Kate Drew-Wilkinson, featuring the most fabulous glass beads I had ever seen. It turned out to be a studio too…who knew you could sit at a desk and manipulate a few glass rods so beautifully? Who knew if I could do it?
“Do you teach classes?” I blurted out, silent me, fully intending to find a way to travel 900 miles from home as often as it took, if that’s what it took. But no, her classes were in the UK every summer, a bit too much of a stretch. Still, learning the craft has been in my mind ever since, one of the thousand things biding its time.
This past Christmas, right after I swore to acquire no more projects or materials, T. gave me a Hothead torch, some glass rods and all the beginner tools I need to get started. It looks like I’ll be able to find classes a couple of times a year within 40 miles of here. I lack only time and confidence, and I’ll find both of those.
I’m a little afraid that this is an art form that could take over my whole life. Or not afraid, exactly…I am in fact open to the possibility. Meantime, I’m not rushing into it. I’m lingering on the brink of possibility. There’s a journey ahead, a way, a path, running like a river. Flowing like glass.
hit me
I’m looking at my blog stats. I am still pulling in a majority of my hits by talking about the Dell touchpad Touchcheck feature. Periodically I go hunting for more information. All these people checking out my blog must be doing the same. Nobody knows what it does. Nobody who knows is telling. I’ve asked on the so-called official Dell forum, but Dell doesn’t seem to officially answer anything there. It’s not mentioned in the documentation that came with my computer. If you Google “touchcheck” you get a dozen people asking for more information.
I don’t think it’s anything critical. Turn it on, turn it off, it seems to make a truly noticeable difference only if other stuff is already broken. T’s best guess is that it’s some kind of protection against errant touchpad events. Nothing worth making a big mystery about. I don’t even have it anymore; when I reinstalled XP, I just used the Windows driver for my touchpad, rather than the Synaptics one that came with the Dell configuration.
So…I just wrote all that to get a bunch of people in here to read my blog. Howdy, folks. Stay a while. Have a margarita.
[Edit: See comments for more informed discussion on TouchCheck. Thanks to all contributors!]
And keep an eye on the second batch of seekers that come around. These are the decoupage people. Crafty types. I don’t imagine there’s much overlap. Decoupaged signs, decoupaged boxes. Still quite a few with the bowling balls, too. Decoupaged floors. Lots of research happening on various finishes, which I’ve reciprocated in full, I’m pretty sure. The decoupaged toilet seat shout-out lured in a few people. (I’m still wondering about them.)
All of which is to say that I don’t have much to say this week. I’m feeling unfocused. Or rather, I’m focused on income taxes; did my first six returns last night, which was a good evening’s work. But now I’ve got a free weekend before the major crush which will begin on or about Wednesday. Can’t quite get back in craft project gear. Can’t do my own tax return yet either, thanks to our big fat lazy Congress who delayed on AMT issues so long that the IRS will not be ready to accept certain forms until the middle of February. (How much overtime is it costing the taxpayer to get ready even that fast?) And now they’re jumping and slobbering all over themselves to approve the crowd-pleasing economic stimulus bread-and-circus of 2008 which is going to stretch the IRS to the limit through June.
Stupid Congress. I can’t put it in polite words, how stupid this all sounds to me. What irresponsible posturing it is. Let me just back away carefully before my head explodes.
You touchcheck guys still here? You crafters? C’mon, let’s go make ourselves more useful than the US Congress. I’ve got a toilet seat that needs improvement.
chicken shanty
It’s cold here. Cold for here. Well down into the 20s on Friday night. The chickens seem to weather it just fine as long as it warms up again pretty soon, which it nearly always does here. They’re okay with rain too; so little bothered or with so little sense—maybe both—that they will pop out of their coop in any rainstorm if they hear the back door open.
But this week it’s going to be both cold and wet. I spent a few minutes yesterday patching together the beginnings of chicken shanty town:
An eyesore, I know, but out of sight of our back windows, and just about right for the bog of mud-and-worse back there. Mouldering tarps and old shower curtains fit right in. Chickens don’t care. That’s part of their charm.
trash day
So this morning I was cleaning off my erstwhile sewing table, a bit sadly, figuring there is no more time for lingerie dreams for now. Tomorrow I must put on my tax lady glasses for the duration.
At any rate, the shelves [bins, boxes, heaps, minor landfills] are getting a bit full, and I once again swore out loud that I would accumulate no more stuff, store no more materials, plan no new projects until I have completed a number of those already in the works and well prepared for. I proclaimed so and then took the dog for a walk.
And then up the road I came across a recycling bin full, FULL of National Geographic magazines. Years of them, the iconic baby harp seal photos on the top cover. Enough pictorial material to fuel dozens of decoupage projects. Trash. Free.
I stopped by later and knocked on the door, received the owner’s blessing and carted them off. Of course I don’t have room for them. Of course they’ll be spoiled if I leave them piled up in the garage or in the attic. I’m going to go through them and extract the likely pictures and recycle the rest.
Of course this is another project in itself. I can’t feel too choked up about it, though. It’s not every day you find treasure neatly stacked on the street. Happens just often enough to thrill the inveterate trash-picker’s heart.
success
Success!
But first we had to go to the zoo:
It’s payback time for slogging through 150 days of summer. On January 5, it was about 75 degrees and sunny in San Antonio.
So, the sewing project. You hardly expected me to model it, I hope:
This is the second iteration. It fits me as well as anything I can buy, and further generations will only improve. Yes it’s rather boring and white; that’s just the kind of pure virtuous cheapskate I am—would you waste the good stuff before you knew it would fit? I’m saving the leather and chains for later.
The plainest bra that I can buy, looking much like this, fitting nearly as well as this one would set me back $45. Add a few scraps of lace and satin and it might be $75. Takes me about three hours now that I have the procedure down, taking my own sweet time. It’s fussy sewing but each step is soon done.
This has been a major sewing goal for quite some time. Not this one bra right here, but the one I’m going to have soon. And all the ones after that.
Ow. Think I may have sprained my elbow there, patting myself on the back.
one in a thousand
Hi, I’m K. and I have a time management problem.
I have a lot to do. Theoretically. However, as long as I do my major wage-earning, everything else can coast. Theoretically. It’s not like in the good old days when I had a garden and seasonal imperatives of preserving food. Or a church choir to whip into shape and music to fit into the liturgical year. Or kids. They take a bit of doing. Or a husband who had to be appeased.
The kids are grown. The new husband is content to live and let live. I do have to feed the pets but if I forgot I suppose he might get around to it sooner or later.
But meanwhile there are the thousand things that are always just a thought away. The thousand things are good, really. One project at a time, maybe five on the front burners, and I know I’ve still got some ambition percolating somewhere in here. When they are silent I worry about the state of my brain. But if I listen to them all together at once they can provoke so much anxiety that I need to retreat to my comfort zone until they fade.
Unfortunately, my comfort zone lately is approximately “comatose.” Not very useful. Not conducive to achieving even one of the thousand. I really need to get something done this weekend, some significant project that will allow me to tick off a small success. Reaching out for one thing is a much better way of dealing with the other 999; they get quiet temporarily.
I’ve been considering what could do the most for my happiness this weekend. Most of my immediate-happiness projects are looking pretty hard. I need to finish a novel. I need to achieve financial independence. I need to paint the kitchen. Not likely this weekend.
I need a bra that fits. And that’s a project that looks just right. Success would do a great deal to elevate my happiness level. I draft sewing patterns using Wild Ginger software, and bras are a challenge and a half, but I can’t go out and find (and/or afford) anything that fits very well. I think I will cheat and start with cloning an almost-fitting little piece of lace and steel and elastic that actually died a natural death some months ago. Its fossil remains may be the basis of a fabulous lingerie wardrobe. Or maybe not—but fitting is a lot easier if you’ve got something workable to replicate. And the thousand things are easier to live with if you’re too busy to listen to 999 of them.
