Before I left for Houston, I went to get a manicure, and the sweet lady at the salon talked me into getting acrylic tips. I was an easy sell- I was nervous, and I wanted to look pretty. My nails have never been a hotbed of good looks- seriously, anyone who does the amount of things with their hands that I do cannot have a nice manicure for long. So I bit. And oh, boy howdy, did they look pretty! A French manicure is always classy in my book, and my hands suddenly looked… well… feminine. It was nice.
It did find I poked myself a lot. They weren’t that long- it’s just that I’m used to relying on my hands to be something besides pretty. I had trouble typing, dialing the phone, opening a diet cherry Dr. Pepper (egad!) and even texting on my old skool phone. But I sure did feel pretty when I wrote something or shook hands with a new friend. Beauty is painful, right?
It’s been three weeks, and I noticed they were growing out and starting to look a little bedraggled. I needed to either get them fixed-up again, or take those suckers off. The kick in my decision direction came on Sunday. I needed to sew something, and I went to put my thimble on. WRONG! Nope, no thimble with nice nails. Not gonna happen. Then, at church, there was a lady I did not know sitting in front of me in RS, and she had these insanely long, obviously fake dragon-lady fingernails. But they were also French manicured. And that did it. Is that awful? I don’t want to be the Thimble-less Dragon Lady.
So last night I sat down and chipped, peeled, hacked and gnawed those suckers off. Aaaaaaaaaaah. The relief is palpable. My fingers thank me. My fingers are SO happy they feel like Sally Fields. I can type quickly again, I can wipe bums without stabbing anyone, I can pick little noses and dial my phone- I can do all kinds of things, and I CAN use my thimble again! Hooray!
So my foray into being a fancy girl was fun, but ultimately, for me, plastic finger-extentions were more pain and handicap than they were worth. It sure is nice to have my ten little friends back… and we’ve got to get to work!
HOLY COW! You have NO idea what my weekend has been like. Criminy. My computer crashed Saturday morning. In the middle of creating invoices for all the new companies that picked me up in Houston. Super-crashed. Kaput. Kazam. I was updating, and then it went all crazy, and words and whonky noises started coming over the screen, and like any sane, right-brained woman, I panicked and hit the power strip. I’ll never know if that was the death knell of old Bessie, or if the deal was sealed before I took a flying leap for the plug. Either way, I lay on the smoldering pile of Dell remains, and promptly had an anxiety attack.
Did you know yelling and crying and pleading with your computer does NO GOOD? Seriously people, NO GOOD. Especially if it’s already gone on to the great silicon beyond.
So first, I cried. I went out in the garage to be alone, and I cried. Then, it started to sink in how utterly dependant on my little Bessie I have become. My two web-guys who are building my website live on the east-coast. I cannot even call them- we only email! The people who are hosting the website, in Arizona? Same thing. The techie guys are waiting on picture files from me for the website and- OH MY HELL! They are ALL in Bessie. MY PICTURES!
I cried some more. (But I did not, this time, throw a shoe at it, or kick it. I have matured.)
I cannot even TELL anyone that my computer crashed! Because I need a COMPUTER to tell everyone. OH. CRAP!!
My poor kids. Mama’s having a melt-down in the kitchen. My phone still works, right? Oh thank goodness! Ok, who can I call? What? What’s that kids? It’s time to go to the ice-cream social at church? ICE CREAM SOCIAL? What the heck is that? Can’t you see MAMA is melting down? OH, fine, get in the car, let’s go. The computer OBVIOUSLY isn’t going to do anything. I think my sarcasm was lost on Bessie, and the kids too, but it made me feel better.
While I was gone, a friend came over and tried to see what he could salvage. When I got back from the ICE CREAM SOCIAL (?), my friend met me in the garage, with the same look a surgeon has when he’s giving bad news in the waiting room. Hangdog look. I raised my eyebrows in a quizzical hopeful looks, to which he shrugged and shook his head. RIP Bessie.
I resort to texting. To be clear, I have an old Skool phone- it is so FAR from being a smart phone, I have to hit the number 7 button four times just to get an “S”. Oh. Yeah. So I text my web-master on the east coast to let him at least know I’ve invoked heroic measures on Bessie to try and salvage some of her organs. Hopefully, with some luck, I can get the photos’ out. What ever happened to good old photo-albums? Huh? That’s what I want to know.
After the ICE CREAM SOCIAL, I realized my kids also had a Halloween party to go to at 6. Forgot ALL about it in the middle of my Very Important Existential Crisis. Beanie and Abby already had their costumes, but I had exactly 45 minutes to make one for Jeffrey. And I did it too. In 45 mintues, I made him a linen tunic and a floor-length Jedi robe, as well as an Obi sash. I scrubbed some eyebrow powder on his face to give him a beard, and he was a passable Quai Gon Jin, Jedi Master. Only with red hair…
The kids went off to the party, I had two hours to cry over Bessie, and I managed to spend almost all the two hours with Comcast. It’s not Comcast’s fault, just so you know- Nothing, no matter what, is their fault, and they will spend two hours on the phone with you proving it. Just ask them.
It was a long, dark, cold night with no computer.
Anyway. Then the Primary Program was today. With kids all hepped up on Halloween candy from last night. It was awesome. I’ve never come so close to wanting to eat my daughter as I did today. The boys did fantastic, picking their noses on cue and making sure to wave in great giant flapping arcs, just in case I was looking elsewhere in chapel while they sand their little off-key hearts out. Meanwhile, Abby flopped around on the floor like a beached Bass, kicking me and everyone around her and talking loudly about the potty and poop, her two new favorite subjects, right after Sweeeping Dooty and Snow White. Which, now that I think about that…
After church the big tech guy shows up, with a bag of tricks and a flashy things that boggle my mind. He even has a whole new computer with him, which is about 1/16 the size of Bessie, but he informs me has 216 times (216!) the memory of Bessie. Show off.
He left and came back. Twice. Through some magickmee-foo, he was able to coax all of my photographs, my invoices and all of my business files out and onto a teeeeeeeny-tiny little thing he called a thumb-drive. When I laughed at it, he said it had more memory than my whole computer. I’m getting that memory is a big deal with these tech guys…
So. He left me a computer here to use. It was one he said he built himself in about 30 minutes. Let me say that again. Dude built a computer in 30 minutes. Like, from pieces, like I would throw together a dinner of leftovers. Or a quilt. Dude makes a computer. That, THAT boggles my mind. As easy as creative stuff is for me, the IDEA that dude MAKES computers for fun, and just can drop-off a spare one, HE MADE , while he attempts to recover more junk from Bessie’s carcass? Blows my mind.
Bessie is dead. Long live Bessie.
Playing at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.
Finally a picture without making Dork face!
Plucking apples right from the tree.
Making applesauce with Auntie.
Yes, we’re going to be just fine.
Three banks. It took three different banks for me to open my own account yesterday. But it’s done, and I’m with a credit union. That’s a good thing. I’m not naming names or anything, but all you big banks? The ones bailed out by my insane tax dollars? You all can bite me. Yay for little credit unions and free checking! A bank that rhymes with Schmace wanted to charge me $25 annually for a DEBIT card. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot!? Yeah. Walked out.
Working on business contacts and trying to keep my name in the forefront of people’s minds post Houston. Also, I have two web gurus working on a website and design for me. I’m thinking of some changes around there, and am thinking really hard about launching under my own name. My design work has been under the name Eye of the Needle, and I do clothing and diaper bags under Dandelion Mama, and obviously the blog. I’m Tracy M at all of them- but I’m thinking of making Tracy M the umbrella, and making EotN and DM subsidiaries under the umbrella of Me. It’s a big step- but I’ll tell you why…
I’ve worked hard for other people in my life- for two companies, back in my career days, I gave my blood, and both are still using work I designed/wrote/styled and drew. They are still making money, in their names, ten-plus years later, from my work. That’s fine- that’s the way it works when you are a salaried employee- I get that. But after the last one, I swore next time I worked that hard, it would be under MY name.
So, do I keep a shell-name for my companies and remain a somewhat anonymous Oz behind the curtain, pulling all the strings and making all the decisions? Or, do I pull out all the stops and brand myself as the Name? I’m leaning, substantially, toward the later.
But… but… but nothing. I can do whatever I want. Scary things don’t scare me anymore.
t’s hard to know what the new normal is. Unlike when you are a kid, and you think adults know stuff, being an actual adult lets you in on the big secret- there are no answers. There is no big book of knowledge that cues you in on how to handle difficult questions, answers that suck, days that grind you down like a steel rasp, and dawns that take too long to come. Sometimes, things are just hard.
My children look at me and plead for answers I haven’t a clue how to give. My eyes well with hot, biting tears, and I hope telling them how much I love them is enough. Their eyes brim and overflow, and with the tears come more questions I cannot answer. I am the mama. I am the buoy. I am who will keep this fractured ship afloat. And I have no idea how.
Taking it day by day is even laughable. Really, its hour by hour, sometimes minute by minute. Waves of feeling strong wash over me, and I am renewed with conviction that I CAN in fact do this. Then the sun sets, the kids go to sleep, and the demons crawl out from under my bed and torture me with their unanswerable questions and demands for a future I cannot see and never planned on having.
Today was hard. I need small victories, tidbits and breadcrumbs to keep me moving forward. Today was a famine. Maybe tomorrow I’ll eat.
This picture was taken the night before the show opened. You would not believe some booths- I mean, shipping crates after shipping crates arriving with furniture, props and beautiful things. I felt like such the ugly duckling- me and my two Southwest-allowable suitcases. That’s it. All I had. I even had to borrow pins from my neighbor to hang my quilts. How sad is that? A quilter who didn’t bring pins. All of my booth shots are from before the convention center laid down the screaming-red aisle carpet that night. I was shaking in my boots. Little fish, big sea. Yeah.
Here’s the other angle- you might recognize the birthday banners- it was the one frivolous thing I was able to stuff in the suitcases. The night before, I had the bathroom scale in the kitchen, and was repacking the bags at midnight because they were over- I got them to 49.8 pounds… by the skin of my teeth.
The table skirt and drapery were borrowed, and my scary midnight run to scary Houston Voldemart netted the hand sanitizer and candy. I forgot a bowl though, and used my roll of stickers to hold treats. Classy. Oh yeah. Have I mentioned how nervous and scared I was? Terrified doesn’t even come close to how I felt. But you know what? I can do scary things. I can do things which make me shake in my boots, and come out better than before.
I have a million ideas for next time. The learning curve was steep, but I had a folder full of sketches before the show even opened. It was a very good experience.
And then here, for comparison, is Heather Bailey’s booth:
Oh yeah. And that IS Heather herself standing there. Her booth is literally four times the size of mine. And it wasn’t even close to the biggest or fanciest- Now can you see why I felt like the country mouse? Like I was totally in over my head?And yet I did it. It’s done. I lived.
And maybe- no, certainly- something good will come of it. People liked my stuff. People were kind to me, and an awful lot of folks had good feedback and even kudos me… Me, the tiny fish in the big scary sea. Exhaling now…
So. Perhaps I’m more poetic, more heroic, when I’m also being vague and cryptic. Perhaps reading Dandelion is more fun when you don’t know the names of the demons that are haunting me. Perhaps. While I’ve held my cards close to my chest for a while now, I’ve also made it no secret that my heart was breaking.
Three days before I left for Houston, I filed for divorce.
There is a lot of personal pain that will remain just that- personal. This was not a step I took lightly or with anything but the most serious gravity. I tried everything humanly possible to keep from taking this step, but once the time came, I knew what I had to do. Publicly, all I will say is that sometimes the agency of others really sucks.
Right now, I am protecting my children. I am trying to keep our lives as normal as is possible; we are all tender and raw around the edges. The kids spent the time I was in Houston down in California with my family, and I flew to the bay area to pick them up straight from Texas.
Now. I turn my weary, red eyes to the horizon, and I can see tiny glimmers of light. I don’t want to get too excited to soon, but I really, really think things may be looking up. The road is hard and there will be bumps, I am well aware. I know there are hurdles I cannot yet see; being a single-Mama is nothing I ever planned to try. But I’m going to make it. I really, really am.
The Lord has abundantly blessed me- with friends, family, talents, faith and hope. Now is the time for me to pull myself up, dust myself off, count my blessings, and get to work. And that’s just what I intend to do…
I am home. The children are nestled all snug in their beds, and I am standing amid the wreckage of my life. But, like the Phoenix or the mighty Sequoia, I’m looking through the ashes for the gems formed from intense heat and pressure. I know, with all my heart, that they are there, and they are waiting for me to find them…
(Still sans-usb cable, this picture is borrowed from my new friend Nan’s blog, Pots and Pins. Check her out- her recipes are fantastic, and she was a cheerleader for me as my neighbor in Houston…)
AWOL Mama logging in from my step-dad’s computer. I really need to get myself a laptop- this is such a drag!
I promise I won’t talk about Market anymore for a while, but I wanted to share this picture. This a shot of about one-twelfth the size of the floor at Houston market. Honestly, in three solid days I didn’t even make it down every aisle. It was insane. And the talent! Oh my goodness, the talent was just incredible.
Houston. Houston was good to me. Aside from the horrifying, ghastly weather, Houston is a nice place. But, oh, the weather is a BIG problem. The food was awesome- seriously, Houston is kind to Foodies. It is NOT kind to people with curly hair, however.
I flew into the biggest storm of the year to hit California yesterday morning. The airline was actually offering vouchers at the gate in Denver if anyone wanted to wait out the storm and catch a “less bumpy” flight. Yes, they said that over the intercom. And it was. It was whiteout most of the way- very strange sensation, being able to see nothing out your window at 38,000 feet, while you bounced and bumped along. The flight attendants didn’t even serve drinks- they had to stay buckled-up. Not a good flight if you didn’t enjoy flying. I was fine.
My kids are in great shape. Grandma and grandpa and granddad have done a great job. The kids are hanging on me more than normal, but I missed them so much I don’t mind.
I’m hitting up my favorite Indian restaurant this evening with my cousin. I just cannot get food like this in the northwest. Tomorrow I hit up LaBamba on the peninsula. I’m also trying to hook up with my friend Rebecca and her kids, as well as my cousin Heather, whom y’all know.
I ADORE the way Texans say “thank you”- and I can see how you could pick up a Texan accent quickly and without meaning to- It’s melodic and addictive… thank yeeeww. And they said I had an accent. Yeah, suuuuuure.
My i-pod really made the airplane trip less of a drag. How cool is it to have 1000 songs at my fingertips? Thank-yeeeew, Mo!
There is much to tell, but for now, I must hold me peace. I’ll be home on Saturday.
Well. What’s done is done. I did what was in my power to do, and I can do no more.
What an amazing experience. I’m still a teeeny-tiny fish in a great big sea, but I caught the eyes of some of the bigger fish- and the law of attraction seems to be en force. I met some fantastic, inspiring people. I wish I had the intellectual reserves to mine for the words to show you how amazing these people are- but right now? I’m just too damn tired.
Yes, I got to bob along in the awesomeness of the textile world. Yes, I got to preview the 2010 lines for sooooo many fabric manufacturers- if you don’t care about textiles, that won’t mean bugaboo to you, but if you pet your fabric like I do, then you are drooling. Look for amazing new stuff from some of your favorites, and perhaps to be surprised by a few, too. Yummy. Really, really yummy stuff.
As for me- well, it was my virgin sail in Market- any market- any show. So while I have nothing to compare the experience to, I did have the people in the booths surrounding mine circling around me in excitement and celebration. The quilting and fabric community is fantastically and oddly devoid of weird tension or competition. It’s as though everyone knows there is room for many artistic visions, and they buoy each other up. Everyone. Every. Single. Person. Was kind, generous, and forthcoming with advice and introductions. I just worked a convention floor for three solid days- and didn’t encounter even one grumpy, or crabby or otherwise unpleasant person. Do that with the general public. Yeah.
So. As for me and my house? I took enough on-site orders to cover all my expenses. That’s good. I also made a ton of new business contacts. Hundreds of stores know about me that had never heard of me three days ago. Not all of them placed orders, but as many of them as I could get left with promo pieces from me. I am no longer a random name. In business, that’s half the battle.
Also. Since I am a one-woman-band, who writes, illustrates, paints, sews, designs and plays the tuba (ok, one of those things is a lie)- some folks who might be able to make some money for and from me also noticed. And told me so.
That’s all I’m going to say about that at the moment.
What?! I know. I’m superstitious though- I’m worried if I overflow with excitement like I want to- like I did when my neighbors and new friends told me what all those business-cards in my hand actually meant- well, then I might accidentally pop the bubble. And I so, so, so very much want the bubble to hold more than a castle in the air.
