Monday, November 2, 2009

Barely Taking a Breath

The problem with almost anything desirable and the good thing about anything less so is that after it's over, it's almost as if it never was. And a day of travel will harsh any mellow for sure (not that mine was especially odious; at least no more so than usual).

On the other hand, there's this:
I love it: I get to shop for a friend who can never make it to SOAR (she teaches. They may well frown upon a week's absence during the school year) so the theory is that I will get acquisitiveness out of my system by the simple act of buying fibre, though so far the effect has minimal to none.

I think I've been shopping for her for close to ten years now.

I'm pretty sure it's proof positive that I was there. True to form, I took no photos whatsoever, even though I should have.
To be fair, some of that mess is stuff from classes and gifts, and in the history of these things, it's actually pretty restrained.

Honestly.

Apart from the shopping - and most of what I love about SOAR is definitely apart from the shopping - I had a wonderful time as always. It's a sad indictment of my life that most of those dearest to me live somewhere else for the other fifty-one weeks of the year. Of course it does make that one week so very precious.

And then I had to be at work again today. Already.

I felt slow and thick.

The first of two home shows is this coming Sunday, which means that every free moment until then will be spent beading.
I managed two pairs of earrings this evening.
I'm kinda liking these rivolis with fringe beads and drops; I think I'll make some more, and possibly do a necklace with them too.

Luckily I'm at the bead store tomorrow evening, ostensibly teaching a class, though it may well work out to be a supplies acquisition expedition.

3 comments:

Spindlers2 said...

What she said......I'm sure you know which bit.

Laurie said...

I missed being there. I missed you always ensconced in the sofa, on the Nth reknit of whatever was in your lap at the time. I missed drinking out of the fire hose.

kim said...

I missed you, dear. And Amy and John and the rest of the St. Louis contingent.

And I know exactly what you mean about the other 51 weeks a year. Seems so odd not to have been there - kind of like I'm missing my left foot.