Monday, December 10, 2012

My tin sign says 'today' today

Week 1.  Post market recovery.  

Somewhere between breakfast and morning tea on day 1- hey, how about participating in a vintage and handmade market?  Frantic stocktake.  Finds stuff everywhere, even some unmounted drawings. Stuff in drawers, behind other things. In two weeks. Yeah, why not?

Note to self: think these things through.

Of course, being the maker and acquirer that I am, it doesn't take deep excavation to find more stock. 

So today was spent finding and making, framing and mounting prints and drawings.  With breaks for walking the hound and drinking tea on the veranda - although I actually gave up on the last cup because the ever-blasting wind blew leaves into my cup and had a good shot at blowing the biscuit off my plate.

Some steampunk airships are midway done.  More mounted chessmen - including one who shall be named 'chuck' because his base is partially the chuck from a drill which I found, with several other exciting bits, at the local salvage yard.(Along with a tin sign which says, rather concisely 'today'.)

There's considerable progress on a model of a boy in a boat, however it's proving quite complex and unlikely to be finished in time.  After last weekend my lounge room is bereft of adornment (to a point) and that one may stay with me for a while before I let it go.

In between: put more soil on the potatoes; planted more lettuces and Chandler strawberries; noted that the never-fail parsnips are living up to their name; idly pondered how one human being will possibly be able to consume that much rhubarb; basked in the (temporarily) tidy and comparatively minimalist lounge room; gave the Dyson (garage sale, of course) some new filters before a thorough workout; played with the puppy; slept late a couple of times; cruised the op shops, garage sales, tip shop and salvage yard; and continued to wonder why those men from the gas company are all over town digging holes in footpaths and verges, looking thoughtfully at them and then filling them in.

One could be forgiven for thinking that they don't know where anything is, but I was a bit worried when they dug the same hole in the neighbour's verge twice, two weeks apart.  What could have changed?  Or could they not recall what they saw the first time, what with all the excitement and all. Those pipes can be tricky if you don't keep an eye on them.

Now I have 30 Bad Alice bags to fold, label, bag and price so I can pack them into a vintage suitcase to take to market.

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