Unfinished Object
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As Laurie pointed out to me in a chat, I’ve been wordy this week. It was a personal challenge to celebrate reaching 500 posts; it was ‘why week’. I started each post by asking myself a question. Why do I blog? Why Unfinished Object? Why do I sew? Why can’t I make up my mind? It was and interesting experiment, if a little garrulous for you. But not to worry, next week I’ll be back to listing weekend chores and moaning about minutia. But today I’m going to turn it over to you and invite you to ask me a question...preferably one about me or the blog. I cant spend the weekend on Wikipedia looking up why the sky is blue (it has to do with light wavelength, by the way). So let ‘er fly, and I’ll answer all two of them here on Monday 
I have a hard time making decisions, especially when I’m buying large ticket item. I research and ask opinions and agonize over making the right choice, and often change my mind multiple times along the way. I know you are tired of wedding posts, but this one is really about my choosing malady…rings just happen to be the big purchase I’m wrestling with right now. When I started out I wanted a plain band with a few small stones set in it. Or that’s what I thought I wanted. When I looked at them they seemed a little cold and a lot too ordinary. I stopped looking in the wedding case and started looking at the phenomenon called ‘right hand rings’. Better, more organic somehow, but also more fragile and there’s little doubt that I’ll be harder on it than the average person. I need to be practical and reasonable about my choice but I want to be in love with it too. So, I switch gears and leave off of filigree and move on to vintage.
These have promise and many have colored stones along with the diamonds. D is big on colored stones, especially rubies. They are popular with the stores as well. When we’ve looked at them every sales person we’ve encountered has felt inclined to tell me that Lady Di’s ring was a sapphire….but I digress. These are sturdier, but more architectural…still not right. Then my mom says I can have the diamond from her engagement ring and I shift gears again, solitaire this time with side stones, but since I wasn’t looking for that style in the first place I have to go back to all the places I’ve been – sheesh.
Mom’s being in town made ring shopping easy and we retraced my steps without dragging D around too much, but we did take him back to the local artisan jeweler where I think we’ve both found rings. My top pick combines all those things I looked at earlier. Wire work with a bezel set, stones in the band, white and rose gold, with a center stone – it’s the kitchen sink of rings, but as gaudy as it sounds. So, providing it looks like I remember it does when I go back, here’s the plan: Buy the ring and set it with mom’s solitaire. Wear it a while and determine if I’m in danger of knocking the whole head out of it. If it looks like I’m going to destroy it I’ll have the stone and head removed and replaced with a repetition of the wire work. However, if all is going well I’ll start saving up for an ideal cut diamond instead (have you seen these? Sweet swoonin’ Jupiter but they are sparkly!).
Though this post has been about rings I could rewrite it about dining tables and flat screen TV’s, sofas and chairs, washers and dryers, carpet, cars…if it was expensive and I’ve purchased one you can bet your bloomers I’ve fretted over it. What’s worse is that by the time I do make a decision I’m tired of the whole process; it’s more ‘get it over with’ than ‘this is THE one’. With D and my tastes running contrary to each other the process is doubly difficult. The dining table was a meeting of those two opinions, it would do at the time but we both hate it now. But it isn’t just our wayward tastes; this affliction was present long before I met D. I suspect the roots of it lie in my extreme dislike of being wrong or making a mistake…or worse, someone catching me at either. Not long ago I embarrassed myself while at a restaurant with D; it’s a post for another time but it had something to do with the entertainer’s butt. D piped up, it’s nice to see you embarrassed for a change and if that isn’t encouragement to ‘let it go’ a little more often I don’t know what is…now all I have to do is decide when!
Sewing and I don’t go as far back as you might imagine, perhaps only seven or eight years. I can remember being fascinated with my grandmother’s sewing machine and her bin of scraps and an old sewing basket I wish I still had. I used the scraps to make things for my Barbies. In my mind’s eye they were grand ball gowns in reality…skid-row Barbie would be more honest. I also recall her trying to teach me to thread the confounded thing and run a straight seam and that I had exactly zero patience for the whole production. This may well have been my first utterance of foul language but assuredly not my last.
My next foray into sewing was a forced stint in Home Economics. I wanted to be in Shop class, but no, that was still the age of boys equal Shop and girls equal Home Ec except for one all too brief week when we swapped. The assignment was to make an animal pillow and the kit I chose was a black and white felt dog. Everything was already cut out and the pillow was more round that dog shaped. All that was required was to attach the face, ears and spot by hand with a blanket stitch, sew the edges, stuff, close the edges and border the whole thing with blanket stitch. If poor ‘Spotty’ had been picked up by the dog catcher they’d have sent him straight to the gas chamber. That thing looked as much like a dog (or a pillow for that matter) as the Eiffel tower looks like a hot fudge sundae. I hated sewing and when the class moved on to baking cookies I was ecstatic.
I took a silk screening class in college and fell in love with fabric, but sewing still eluded me and I paid a woman to hem my final projects so they met the requirements for submission. Fast forward twenty plus years; my grandmother lost an arm to cancer and in what was most likely a mix of frustration and realism she gave me her sewing machine. Figuring it had been years since the machine was last serviced I took it to a little old man so wrinkled and stooped he probably invented the first one and $70 later he pronounced it cured. For an additional $25 he sold me an attachment that allowed my basic, straight forward, prehistoric Kenmore to make button holes. I blundered into my first fabric store and purchased a modest amount of patterned and solid yellow cotton and set out to make myself a quilt. I believe I finished one square and I know it took me literally hours to do so. I hadn’t thought to ask the wizened old man how to thread the machine or the bobbin. I didn’t understand tension or needle size and disgusted I threw the puckered mess into a box… the humble beginnings of my stash. I believe it is still there buried under years of accumulation.
A few more years went by and the Kenmore was just something I dusted from time to time. I met D and he introduced me to the Fencing Club. Fencing and I didn’t get along as I couldn’t get beyond feeling like a hippo in a tutu when I was thrashing about with my foil but I excelled in painting and fixing things for them (and watching D of course) so I stuck around and they made me an honorary member. The club’s main source of revenue was running ten or twelve games at the annual Medieval Faire. Ring toss, fencing lessons, archery, sword-bob to name a few and I jumped on the band wagon to mind games and take tickets but there was a catch, working the faire required a costume. D, being an old hand at it owned several but I’d never stepped foot into a Ren-Faire. Luckily there was a long time before the Faire, months in fact, and with Halloween just around the corner costume patterns were easy to find. So I made my second venture to the fabric store selected a pattern based solely looks and not experience level, purchased fabric and nearly passed out at the register. The amount of fabric in a full skirt is not for the faint of heart. I settled myself in my craft room, then still a guest room, and worked through the pattern one agonizing step at a time. It called for zippers, boning, casings, elastic, gathers, and eases but sheer determination won out and I produced a passable skirt, shirt, and bodice and could not have been prouder of myself. I found making ren-costumes rather like drawing dragons…having never seen one folks couldn’t tell me that I’d done it wrong. Sewing bloomed. I replaced the Kenmore with a Husqvarna and my stash began to grow.
D’s affection for the fencing club and faires was waning just as mine waxed but there was still time to make a few corsets, underpinnings and gowns. Most notably Simplicity’s version of a gown from the movie Shakespeare in Love – bum rolls and cartridge pleats and farthingales OH MY! I wore it to big faire in Sarasota and spent a very memorable day being approached by people wanting my photo as they thought I was one of the actors portraying nobility. I don’t think D or the couple we were with were as delighted as I was with all the attention but I had myself a fine, fine time.
There have been several costumes since – for myself, D, friends. Many were quite complicated and all just a little seat-of-the-pants. Each of these projects was large, multi-stepped or multi-pieced. I recall that there were nine yards of fabric in the S in Love skirt and that time after time I’d thought I was near the end of a seam only to find a mile of fabric still to come. Typical of me to jump in so deep and the resulting burnout was not surprising. Then I made something small. I do not recall what it was but I do remember being awestruck when I ran the first seam in under three seconds and checking the floor to make sure I hadn’t lost something.
Sewing changed, it became an almost daily hobby. I discovered totes and bags; small projects I could finish in a few hours and didn’t require every square inch of the room to lay them out for cutting. More importantly I started to toy with my own patterns and ideas where once I would have never deviated from the written instructions. There were failures, there still are. But with each project I learned something and I became more comfortable with the whole process. I still encounter things in patterns I don’t understand, or have ideas that require puzzle solving skills to make them work but I think that’s why I love sewing. Its very vastness makes it indomitable. That I can never reach ‘ok, done that, moving on’ keeps me coming back. I might master one technique or style but the slightest movement in any direction reveals a plethora of new ways to do things, new items to make and new ideas to explore. They say sewing like knitting is coming back into fashion…for me I hope it never goes out.
No one has ever really asked “Why “Unfinished Object”?” but I’ve always suspected that anyone who spent much time reading here would gather fairly quickly that among procrastinators I rank in the highest echelon and that must be the reason for the name. I do complete things to the ninety ninth percent and then let them languish, forgotten. And I am great out of the gate with new projects but loose steam in the stretch. But my abilities to procrastinate and hesitate are really only the simple definition of ‘Unfinished Object’ and since I craft, a handy one besides. My true intent for choosing that name was that I am unfinished. It is a reminder to my self that though I am a sedentary person it does not mean I have to have a sedentary mind. Though I am flawed I do not have to be complacent with those flaws. I am a work in progress and I like it that way.
I haven’t the means, the opportunity or the gumption to become Oprah and go off in search of myself. I wouldn’t know where to look anyway…somewhere bathed by the light of a computer screen no doubt. I can, however, learn new things, recognize my faults make changes and become if not a better person then at least one that is comfortable in her own skin. Of course, there will be a time – hopefully far in the future – when I have no choice but to stop changing, but I hope that even then I am happily unfinished.
Once I was asked, neither kindly nor tactfully, if I blogged to garner attention for myself. This, my 500th post*, seems like the right time to address that question. The query came from a person who does not blog and seemed sincerely incapable of fathoming why any one would waste time on such a puerile endeavor … and yes, the question raised my ruff a bit. I tend to be defensive of my hobby, and I offer no apology to that. I won’t condemn anyone who finds blogging not to their taste; and I expect the same treatment in return. Unfortunately people are people and they forget that their opinions are just that ‘theirs’ and shouldn’t always be imposed on others. I agree that we all have a right to our opinions but there are times when we should keep our big mouths shut – or our fingers off the ‘send’ button, whichever the case may be.
So, do I blog to be accepted and gain attention? I suppose I do, if you can call my three regular readers, handful of monthly visitors, and the occasional lurker ‘attention’. I blog is what is going on in my life, and I admit that I crow loudly when I’ve done something I’m proud of. But if I can’t do that here, where can I? When I started – and stopped – and started – and stopped – and finally started for-real-this-time I did have visions of being a big blog. If you’ve been around a while you’ve heard this before. I originally wanted tons of comments, appreciative readers who learned something from my tutorials and recipes, and a sense of being popular. It was a tall list of blog-desires and it did not take much time for me to learn that it does not work that way. In fact, I found it rather like high school and that thing that makes people popular eluded me just as it always had. But, as I became a regular visitor to some of the well known blogs and I realized that few, if any, of the readers were actually friends with the writer and the big-blog appeal lessened. I encountered blogs that stated on their main page “Thanks for the comments, but I don’t have time to answer them” and the shine diminished even more. Finally, when I had my own small dose of blog nastiness and was forced to take down a post I shifted gears entirely.
This blog is truly a web-log, the origin of the word ‘blog’, and I love it in all its blathering wonder. It is a record of my day-to-day. I am more likely to keep it in this format rather than a pen and paper journal. It matters not a wit that I write about taking out the garbage or getting engaged or painting the bathroom. Some days I’ve little to say, and others I’m overflowing. Luckily, having only a small readership leaves me the latitude to write when I feel like it and rest when I don’t without ever feeling like I’m letting someone else down. I won’t lie; I enjoy the kudos, support and encouragement that I receive here but it is not the only reason I blog. I also enjoy meeting people, reading other blogs and offering the same well wishes in return. And I especially like having this record to look back on, how else would I remember D’s peanut butter/chocolate/marshmallow sandwich or the time I set the alarm off at the office because I had a senior moment and forgot the code. The big things are easy to remember; here I can store small things and in case you haven’t heard, they are important too.
Blogging is not all sunshine and roses, and I’m not speaking only of the loonies and jerks. It has many of the same pitfalls as communicating by email the biggest one being loss of tone. A good writer can convey meaning and tone, the reader knows exactly what is serious and what is tongue-in-cheek. Most bloggers are just passable writers, myself included. Those who know me ‘get it’ and those that don’t…well, not so much. Internet friendships are made and broken by tone and often neither party is aware that it was all a simple misunderstanding…a lame attempt at humor gone miserably awry. Oddly enough, I have found these long distance friendships every bit as fine as local ones, with the exception that it’s hard to take each other to dinner. I’ve also found that when they run their course it hurts just as badly…perhaps worse. The safety of being miles away is as insular as being able to flip someone off while driving. People do not act as they would face to face, or I hope that they don’t as some of the internet behavior I’ve encountered is simply deplorable. But, as I said before, people are people and while we are at the top of the food chain we are not therefore at the top of the intellect scale.
It’s not perfect, this hobby of mine, and my site suffers from a poorly educated mistress. There should be a new ‘skin’ here to celebrate the big 500; in fact there should be different skins for holidays and seasons but I’ve never quite applied myself fully to managing my own site. If you dig deep enough you are sure to find missing photos from a long defunct BuzzNet account and dead links to people that no longer blog. I’ve made more than my fair share of typos and misspellings. I’ve blogged happy and drunk and angry and sad. There are posts I wish the world could read because I believe them them better than my average and others that would be best forgotten. I’ve taken breaks and considered quitting but I never quite give it up. No, it’s not perfect but that may be the best part, there is no rule that says it has to be and no one to please other than my self. Why do I blog? For the best reasons in the world…because I like to and because I can.
*If I include my previous blog, Comfortably Numb, this is my 816th post. I have been blogging since 8/9/04…wow, where does the time go!
I resisted the genetic urge to make the house pristine. Yes, genetic; though evidently it weakens with each generation. My mom’s mom is a cleaner. That house was always spotless, even with the raising of four children, and visiting of grandchildren. Even now, her tiny assisted living apartment is kept amazingly clean for a woman of her years. When I was little and the grandparents were coming for a visit my mother always went into some sort of cleaning convulsion. She worried, she fretted and she cleaned. And still, on the day of the visit it would not be clean enough…there was no matching my grandmother’s abilities.
My early years of having my own place, be it apartment or home, were much the same. Any visitor prompted a whirlwind of straightening and scrubbing. I wanted it to look like Better Homes & Gardens, I wanted to be Martha. I suppose I did a fair job of it…when someone was looking…but the rest of the time it was passable or downright chaotic depending on the day.
When D moved in there was an initial burst of activity to prove I could be a good housewife, but once I realized he really wasn’t paying attention I eased up on the accelerator. I still clean of course, and he helps. Sometimes its ‘guy clean’ and sometimes ‘girl clean’ but it’s rarely the ‘company clean’ that my grandmother aspired to every day.
My mom arriving this afternoon the house is just passable. Her room (my sewing room) is as clean as it gets – translated: vacuumed, dusted, and semi organized (for gawd sakes don’t open a drawer!) and the guest bath is spotless (unless you open the linen closet). The kitchen is as clean as it gets considering I cooked last night, and the living and dining rooms are straight, but cluttered with all the stuff I drug out of the sewing room closet so she could hang up her things. Master bedroom and bath? Probably better if she doesn’t go in there at all. The miracle is that I’m ok with that…you could come visit and I’d still be ok, I’d even let you write your name in the dust on master bedroom TV screen. My days of being freaked out if any one learned I was not only mortal, but lived in my house seem to have passed. Whether its wisdom or laziness I do not know. Either way it is ultimately a good thing. Like my dad says “people aren’t coming to see your house, they are coming to see you”.
It’ll be a little quiet around here in the coming days as my evenings are spoken for, and my computer is situated in ‘mom’s room’. Till then send good wishes to Laurie, who’s dad is having surgery tomorrow, and to Kim, who fuggered her knee last week. And if you get bored check out this site for some very cool crochet art, and shop this Etsy shop (she makes the bestest bags ever). Till next time...take care of yourselves!
This will be one of those weekend where I can’t wait to go back to work Monday to get some rest. The list of things to do and have done is long and I’m sure some things will fall by the wayside as time spins out. But it wont be without some fun. Tomorrow morning we are going to a local jeweler who specializes in custom work. He uses the same computer software that D does for his 3D design (D has already stopped by) and D has been hard at work on a design all week. Even if I dont find one myself its ok because it’s nice to see D so enthused. Besides, we’ve decided (we think) on September so there is plenty of time to keep looking...as Laurie says, don’t force it.
In other news, remember my ‘want’ list from a couple of weeks ago. Well I decided to make good on a few of them and shorten the list. No, I didn’t pick up a puppy but I did sign up for a glass bead making class. To my pleasant surprise, D is going to join me. It doesn’t start until we return from my brother’s wedding in June, but that is just as well there is, as always, much to do before then. I’m excited though, I don’t expect to be an instant whiz at it or anything, but I think it will be a nice way to spend an evening together and to learn something new.
There are lots of things interfering with my blogging these days. One I can’t tell you about … yet (that should keep you checking back). Another is my current fascination with wedding stuff. I may be consumed with plans right now but that doesn’t mean you want to hear all about them. Believe it or not I do try to keep my topics varied –sorta. End of month at work, and preparation for a visit from my mom at home are also taking little bites out of the time I normally spend blogging.
I’m sorta flipped out today, and for a wonder it has nothing to do with any of those things. Instead it has to do with a mistake I’ve made…one that makes my tummy do flips when I think about it. Last night on the way home I stopped at a local nursery looking for variegated pittosporum – a shrub that we have along the front of the house. I want to fill in the openings that I intentionally left in the hedge when I first planted it – I like to change things up in the yard. While I was there I wandered the rest of the nursery and stumbled across a Dutchman’s Pipe or Pipe Vine.
“Perfect”! I thought for a trellis on the back porch. There is a rather blank wall there that could use some softening and something interesting. Besides, it wholly fits my love of alien plant life. Seriously…I luvs me some weird plants. So I spoke to the nurseryman: no – not toxic (ie safe for the cats), likes shade (perfect for the porch), fast grower (but prune-able). Green lights all the way…so home I went with my new prize. D was in the garage when I arrived and was kind enough to carry it to the back porch, where it will sit until I plant it.
This morning at work I bragged about it to my uncle, who has a passing interest in such things, and we looked it up online so he could see a photo. While looking we found an info sheet that noted two things. One: it is considered invasive by the state of Florida and they are trying to get it added to the banned list. Two: it was once given to women in child birth to ease pain and help pass the placenta. It was also noted that it was as likely to kill them as to help with pain. Kill them! It’s toxic and causes kidney failure…and it is sitting on the back porch where the cats have direct, all-day access. Neither D nor my self work close enough to the house to make a quick trip home. It’s likely a non issue as the cats leave most of the plants out there alone (Libby has a thing for round cactus – she pulls them up and bats them around. Ouch.). D was very sure that they had not bothered it at all last night – hopefully they have continued that trend. Going back to work now…not thinking about it.
Update: Cats and plant are intact - whew!
Sometimes the day just gets away from you and today was certainly one of those. I started off the morning tying up little loose ends; things that pile up and sit unfinished because there is always something more important overshadowing them. And then I started in on the normal pile-o-paper only to get side tracked time and again. And so, all of it still sits there, neatly arranged on my desk waiting for tomorrow. By then, of course, the drift of paper will be twice as deep...I better bring my snowshoes, and maybe a shovel.
Our weekend was ordinary, the highlight - or maybe lowlight- was further ring shopping. I can only say that a part of me wishes that D had picked it out and surprised me with it, and saved me from the trauma of trying to choose. We visited a big mall jeweler who was having an artisan event. When I approached the case I knew right away that there was nothing in there for me; high settings waiting for gazillion dollar stones. Then I saw it...the ring...and then I saw the price tag. Eight freakin thousand dollars. The designer talked himself down to forty-nine hundred and seemed a little befuddled as to why we wouldn’t jump on such a deal. So we went back to one of the rings photo’d below. Ring one is my favorite, and though it paled somewhat next to the ring it was still very pretty...until...I stepped out from under the lights. It died. Not a wink, not a sparkle, just dull dead metal.
I’ll probably go back, one more time, and see if I can carry it to a window or have the security guard walk me out to the parking lot so that I can see in in sunlight. Dead in the dark is one thing...dead in the daylight another entirely. There is also the possibility that I’ll go look at the ring one more time too, but only because the salesman is certain that he can find it at another store. He figures that they [the store] purchased one a few years ago and it is probably still knocking around in inventory. Platinum was far cheaper then and he’s certain it would probably be a third of the price. I know he meant the 8k price, but I’m planning on going daft insisting that I understood it to be a third of the sale price. Ya know, just to see what happens. Hey, this is frustrating work, I gotta have fun somewhere.
For example: The artisan was delightedly showing me an eternity ring; the sort where the diamonds go all the way around the band. “I dont want to pay for ones that I cant see” I said, and before he could reply I added, “It’s sorta like getting a tattoo on your butt. What’s the point if you cant see it?” No, he didin’t laugh. To be honest I knew he wouldn’t. Anyone who could get up in the morning and keep a straigh face as he looked in the mirror at that hairdo is dead in the humor department.
A dose of cuteness...and probably giggles when you hear me talking doggy baby talk. Enjoy!
Yesterday a great package arrived from Roxanne. I was so torqued over the bank debacle that I failed to blog it right away. See how cool it is?
It’s a night at the movies and the prize from her Movie Line Meme a few weeks ago. Twizzlers, Goobers, Rasinets, Cotton Candy and a popcorn scented movie gift card! There is also stationary and a skull note pad (lurve it muchly)...ya know, so I can write notes if the moving is boring - heh. Lesson learned: Never show off on Rox’s site, the prises are too terrific!
When I got home the same night there was another box waiting. This one from Laurie. See...also terrific!
Lesson learned: never tell Laurie you are a) terrified of sewing stretch fabrics, b) that there’s a book you’d like to have and c) that you are broke. She’s gets a little carried away.
This evening I did a little ring shopping. The store I visited was kind enough to take photos of my top picks (so far). They are photos of photos, therefore, crappy, but I think you can get the idea:
Lesson learned: I dont know what I want...sheesh!
Over the weekend D and I went to a movie and on the way we stopped at the bank to use the ATM. We were in the Mini Cooper and when D pulled up he could barely reach the buttons. When he asked how much I wanted I was originally going to say $100 but then I noticed that the button for $60 was waaaaay up at the top...$60! I said with a grin. We laughed and he preformed some very complex yoga stretches to reach the button, gave me my money and we drove off. As I slid the three bills into my purse I noticed that instead of $20’s the machine had issued three $50!. Now we know what was taking the guy in front of us so long. We joked about going through the line again and that maybe D should try his card....whoohooo rings here we come!
We actually just went off to the movie and I didn’t think about it again until Monday when I called the bank to tell them about the error. It took three calls to get someone to talk to me and the woman who finally did had no idea how to handle it. She would call me back. It took till Wednesday for someone to call me and the first words out of her mouth were when could I return the money to the bank? We went through a whole back and forth match of ‘can I put it in the night drop?’ NO ‘Cant you just take it out of the account” NO. I was torqued...I still am. I have no problem with the money being theirs but the fact that before ‘Thank-you’ came ‘Gimmie” really ticked me off. I called a supervisor and it is coming out of my account...but I gotta tell ya, I’m think I’m sorry I did the right thing.
I’m a channel surfer and as such I’m guilty of ‘train wreck’ tv watching. As I flip through the channels I stall on the stupidist most sensationalist shows...like Flavor Flav, Tila Tequila, Work Out...basically any channel where someone is yelling or acting the ass stops me in my tracks. Of late the one thats stops my finger mid click is Real Housewives of New York. I realize that I cannot adequately fathom the lives these women lead, but holy spoiled rotten beotchs batman! Sheesh! They live on another planet, in another solar system, possibly in an entirely different universe. The most grounded among them is a Countess.
Tonight, as I type, the season recap show is airing. One, Alex, a tiny little blond with more money than brains just piped up and said ‘I’m not a socialite” and yet there has been scene after scene of her and her husband looking for themselves in the socialite pages or discussing the mechanizations of moving up into a higher social status. They push their three year old son to speak French because they vacation in the Rivera. They shop together for gowns for her to wear to opening nights and he buys matching suits. The viewers are slinging words at this couple like grasping, pretentious, and delusional. They of course claim that they are being misrepresented and it is all a trick of the editing. In truth everyone in the circle is guilty of the same things. I’m no fool, I know producers are looking for juicy bits to air and I know I’m seeing only part of the picture. But you know what? There’s no amount of make up or bling or social status that can hide a person that is ugly on the inside...and ladies, you are hideous.
Hmmm…well there was a post here but I pulled it. Some selfish broad whining about how her brother’s wedding is outshining her own isn’t what you visit for. And it certainly isn’t how I want to feel, so I’m pretending I don’t. I’ll let you know how that goes, and do some money whining instead. We did a small amount of ring shopping this weekend and both found things we like but the total of the two rings is three grand…our entire wedding budget. I’ guessing we’ll keep shopping but I must admit that I’m beginning to freak out just a tiny bit, mostly over upcoming expenses.
Mom is visiting soon and already there has been an Aero bed and linen purchase and there are sure to be dinners out and extra groceries once she’s here. Plus her visit is over Mother’s day so there will be something for that too. Bro’s wedding is in June and we are driving to Atlanta: gas, hotel, meals - and I’m on wedding cake duty which isn’t crazy expensive but has to be planned for nonetheless. Then a two month break and we are on to the cruise, which is paid for but not paid for – if you get my drift. Plus there will be additional things like alcohol, shore excursions, etc. Don’t get me wrong, we aren’t in financial straits, not at all. But knowing that all those things are just sitting out there waiting is daunting. Knowing, and trying to plan a wedding, even a small one…well…that’s nerve wracking. I’m sure some creative corner cutting, a lot of buying restraint and maybe a little Ebay / Etsy selling will round it all back out but I just don’t like the feeling of being financially ‘tight’.
Not too many years ago I was in debt up to my eyeballs, my credit sucked and I was worried all the time. I worked hard, paid things down and refinanced the house and got out of it. Right now I feel like I’m on a very slippery slope that leads back to that hole. As always ‘want’ is at odds with ‘need’ and I’ve been a little slack with the reigns of late. It’s time to haul back on them hard, but believe me its difficult to do while staring at shiny diamonds.
I was very naive in high school. I had an inkling of the things that people talked about but no true idea and certainly no ‘experience’. Then I started working in a restaurant, and though I still lagged on the experience part believe me the details provided were far more elaborate than those in high school. I believed I had heard it all. When I finally did become experienced, well I thought I’d kissed that naivety goodbye. Evidently not.
Yesterday on my flickr site I posted a few photos of some swaps I recently received. When I post swap photos they appear briefly on the Swap-Bot log-in screen which will occasionally result in comments from unknown people. Yesterday was no exception as I received a couple of comments but I was surprised when someone, who I’m going to call FF for flickr friend, marked one of the swaps photos as a favorite.
Normally if someone is going to mark one of my images favorite its one of the bugs or flowers or something more interesting than a pile of stuff on my desk. When a swap photo is marked favorite a quick visit to the person’s profile will usually clue me in as to why. The swap may be very much in their style, or have something in it that clearly interests or inspires them. But when I followed that link …no crafts. None. In fact the first thing I encountered was a note from flickr warning me that FF’s photo stream lay outside my ‘safe search’ settings and asked ‘would I like to go back?’. After a tease like that? Heck no! Click to proceed.
The first image was of a woman (an actress maybe-she seemed familiar) wiping a tear with a lacy hanky. There was a semi dramatic note from FF saying she was done with flickr due to negative comments. Again a tease so I paged into the photo stream and instead of the racy photos I now expected, I found hankies…lots and lots of hankies…a daily hankie if you will. My photo that FF had marked favorite included a vintage hanky embroidered with an ‘S’. The hankie wasn’t front and center in my photo or pointed out with anything greater than a note, it was just there. Ok, I thought, she collects hankies not that she can really get a good view of the one in my photo.
Still, it seemed odd. There was no staging, no care taken with the light and many of the hankies were really ordinary. I’m used to overachieving swappers who paint, embroider or otherwise decorate things; these by comparison were downright mundane. Moreover, all the hankies were badly in need of a good ironing. Some had been folded and some wadded before being laid out on computer keyboards, beds, tables, wherever to have their photos taken. Thinking that I must be missing something I picked one at random and read the comments. It seemed the one I picked had been sent to her by another flickr member and his ‘GF just didn’t know what she was missing’. Um…huh?
I clicked her profile and when I looked at the groups she belonged to the light finally came on. Evidently we both have a hankie fetish…she needs to be bound and gagged by them and I need them ironed!