Another Project Is Eating My Worktable

If you've been dropping into this blog for a while, you may know that I tend to take on large projects.  Big, worktable eating projects that initially seem like a great idea but soon have me wondering what the heck I was thinking.

After a few thousand nights hours and hours of working at these table-eaters, I'm usually pleased with the results.  But holy crap, they do suck up some hours.

And darned if I didn't do it again.  Here's a peek at the latest project that's devouring my worktable.

Still not entirely sure what this will become.  I have had several ideas along the way, but the ideas keep shifting and changing.

So it's back to step by step progress, do a little bit and then set it aside.  The project has moved forward a bit beyond the stage in the photo, but I think it's time for it to sit and marinate for a while.

I'll keep you posted...

Just Call Me The Computer Killer

My laptop died about a month ago.  Since then, I've been borrowing my husband's laptop when possible, or using our old desktop computer.  The desktop computer is the one with the photo editing software, Microsoft Office, all the stuff I need when I'm not just surfing the web.

And now, the desktop seems to be going through an existential crisis.  It locks up.  It freezes at unpredictable moments.  It no longer speaks to the printer.  I've tried to clean up the hard drive by deleting some old programs (Office 2000, Office 2003, etc, etc -- told you it was an older computer!), but it stalls mid-deletion.  It's acting like a combination of moody adolescent teenager and stereotypical opera herione who's singing at the top of her lungs while dying from consumption..  No rhyme, no reason, no reliability.

Believe me, I'd rather be posting pictures of some of the goodies I've been making recently.  This is a beading blog, after all.  I have lots of pictures to share, but every time I approach the computer to get them ready to post, the computer decides it's time to freak out.  I swear, it laughs derisively at me.

So friends, consider this a public service announcement.  Do not, under any circumstances, allow me near your computer.  Apparently I am the virus that will kill it.

Dammit.

The Weekend Art Show - Wherein We Defy the Laws of Mathematics and Meteorology, and Perform a Floor Show

Yesterday I began the saga of the art fair that I participated in this past weekend. Saturday had been a great day, and if things continued on at the same pace on Sunday, it would be one of the most productive shows I'd done in a very long time.

Sadly, we were in for a less fabulous day.

What had been predicted to be a 60-degree day with only 40% chance of rain turned out to be a 45-degree day with nonstop rain.

So on Sunday, 40% = 100%. The laws of mathematics were now apparently no longer valid.

Ah, well.

At least there were still people coming to the fair. The crowds were understandably lighter, but the ones who did come were a hardy bunch. They braved the mud and the slop to shop, and they bought. Bless them.

But some time around noon, an unusual thing happened. It began raining. Inside my booth.

This has happened before during particularly rainy shows, so I wasn't altogether surprised, though it does always strike me as a refutation of the laws of meteorology to have indoor precipitation. The swim noodles did their jobs and held the roof up (hooray!!!), but the poor tent roof just got so saturated that it soaked through and began dripping. Frequently down my back and on my head.

So I spent the rest of the day running around the booth, mopping up drips as they plopped in unpredictable spots on my display, trying my best to keep the jewelry dry and safe. For once, I had planned ahead. If you remember yesterday's photo of the ugly underbelly of my display tables:

See the white blob near the center top of the picture?

That, my friends, is a roll of paper towels, which I used nearly completely up. I felt like such a well-prepared scout!

At the end of the day, sweet husband showed up to help me break down and load out. Of course, the rain had slowed to a mild mist by this time, and believe me, we were all thankful for the break in the showers. We got everything packed up and loaded into the car before taking the tent down.

While my husband was taking a load of stuff to the car, I pulled the swim noodles out from the tent frame, and realized that once the noodles were gone, the moisture on the roof collected into a couple of puddles.

In the pre-noodle days, I would take care of this situation by pulling the edge of the roof, allowing the collected rain to run off. In the pre-noodle days, I would do this while standing inside the tent, reaching out to pull the edge while staying sheltered by the tent itself.

Yes, this was the crucial detail that I forgot until the first nanosecond after I tugged on the roof edge while standing in front of the tent.

The whole collection of rainwater came gushing down. On my upturned face. Much to the amusement of my neighboring artists.

I looked kind of like this:

So what do you do when you've simultaneously nearly drowned yourself and provided a load-out floor show for your fellow artists? Laugh along with them and be extra thankful that the heater in the car works.

So the moral of our story, dear friends? Always travel with swim noodles, a roll of paper towels, and a healthy sense of humor. It'll get you through any art show!