Like The Queen
Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.


My husband's theory on craft fairs was that you should have to be licensed to own a band saw. Any plans to make cutesy signs or those "bloomer ladies" for the garden should be grounds for the Tacky Police to confiscate your tools. I never buy things at craft shows either, except foody things like herbs and spices, or handmade soap. I see no point in purchasing other people's crafty crap since I can create crap on my own, thank you. I look at that stuff and see clutter. I hate clutter.

By Blogger Catherine, at 5:25 PM  

Your husband was right on target. I like to make cutsie crap too, btw.

By Blogger Bess, at 8:08 PM  

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Sunday, June 20, 2004  

The north wind has spun around and given us a perfect day. Crisp clear skies, bracing air, visibility all the way to the horizon. Everything smells clean. Everything feels silky. Every living being is singing for joy. And it is Sunday - and I don't plan to do a single darn thing other than what I want to do. Just be and savor and exist.

Yesterday's festival was great fun and a testimony to good organizational groundwork, both for the festival as a whole and for the book sale in detail. I only had to work 1 hour of sale duty and, so long as I checked back every hour when the shifts changed, to make sure everyone knew what was required, I could spend the rest of the time milling about in the crowd, looking at the booths and catching up with people.

Most of the time I am not interested in the stuff sold at craft fairs. I don't mind picking up that interesting bar of handmade soap (Peppermint Pattie it's called, and I think it will feel delicious on really dog hot days of summer) that the middle school art teacher was selling. And I did fall in love with (and purchased) a spinning thing for the garden. Mesmerizing, it was, and will act as the soundless windchime I've longed for. BD hates them, and LD rather does too - wind chimes. Wait. No. They both like them, but resent the fact that man-made chimes can't be turned off when they want to hear nature's chimes instead. A fair complaint; so we've never had wind chimes in the garden. But I've wanted something moving and magical and I don't want water. That's more work than I want to do. This twirly thing (I haven't any idea how to describe it - it spins in the wind and creates the hypnotic look of growing fatter then thinner as it twirls) makes no sound and will give me just the other-worldly effect I've wanted. And there's no reason to go to a craft fair if you aren't going to buy earrings - which I did. Copper leaves that dangle.

Beyond that, though, all those tole painted signs and ruffly fabric things leave me unmoved. Wait! No! Again! They actually depress me most of the time, because I am crushed by the sensation of TOO MUCH JUNK they engender. I'm utterly creeped out by the presence of someone who would paint little sayings on boards over and over and over again. I hope they feel like each painted motto is unique, even if, to me, it's indistinguishable from it's mate. I would at least like to think these folk were not stuff-making robots, but were, indeed, creative, energized souls. I did a little ceramic production work for a brief time and making that third pitcher with the lavender blossoms splashed across it just about brought me to a standstill. I believe I eventually quit pottery altogether, not just because I was afraid of the heat of the kiln, but because the thought of one more pitcher with splashes of color on it became a less attractive offer than solitary confinement.

Hmmm. There you have it, unintended I've plugged into the Overmind - since Catherine & Amie are having this craft/art discussion over at BossyDog. Besides, I never mind seeing the results of production mode people who produce things I want. It's just that I don't want painted plaques on my walls, or if I want one, I'll paint the one I want myself, or ask for a custom one from a gifted plaque painter. Since I am never going to want a ruffled fabric wreath, I am not going to look at a booth with 50 of them and I wonder how someone could make something I don't like so many times. There it is: A shopper's subjectivity.

Anyway, I had a grand time wandering familiar streets and chatting with familiar faces and encouraging people to go buy used books at the book sale. Perhaps the most wondrous thing was seeing all the new babies! Of course, new babies are cute, anyway, and some of them were breathtakingly beautiful, but, these are the babies of the children I read to at story hour; of the boys who used to hang out at the library after school because I talked to them as if they were grownups; of the girls who used to ask me for the next Sweet Valley High, or Saddle Club volume. Man - these are kids who graduated from high school after my son did and now they're mamas and daddies. All around me, my contemporaries are beaming, proud grandparents, loving like they never thought they could.

I hope you realize what this means. That I am moving firmly into the OldGuys category. Oh - mind now, I could still slip into the Woman’s Club building and hug really OldGuys. Believe me, I did, but I wonder now if there was just a little relief mixed among the genuine affection I feel for these lovely women. As long as they’re still around to hug, I’m not a ReallyOldGuy myself.

I also loved the strangers who came to town for the event; especially when they came by the book sale, because I can talk books with the best of them and can chat up a stranger with a will. I particularly love it when I'm with middle school kids - because, as I said, I really do know how to talk to them as if they were grown-up. Mama did that with me. I did it with LD. It's easy to give a kid some respect and boy do they blossom with it. Listening to a 13 year old's opinion is one of the neatest ways to stay in touch with tomorrow.

This is only the second year our little town has had this festival so there's lots of energy about putting it on. It was about twice as big as last year, with lots more food vendors and lots more kiddy games. Hot air balloon rides had been on the agenda too, but it was too windy so they were canceled. Alas. No soaring for us.

Okay - got called away from this post and now I am back I see that it hasn’t been much of a knitting blog in ages. I’m afraid it shan’t have much fiber content today either, but hey - it’s my blog, right? And besides, I do intend to do a little fiber stuff today. And besides, there were Cotswold sheep at the festival with a guy sheering the little ones. Didn’t even realize anybody was raising them around here. This place is so wet. So. There’s the knitting content. I saw a sheep.

Maybe next week I’ll do better.

BTW. I can't open my blog. I can get into it via the archives, but I can't see today's post. I can get into everybody else's bolg, just not mine. I hope it's just a blogger thing, or an ISP thing or an electricity thing. I never post here that I don't worry that I've screwed something up.

posted by Bess | 8:04 AM