Caps for Sale

Remember that book from childhood?  Caps for Sale was one of my favorites - along with What Shall I Put in the Hole That I Dig? As I got older I would read it to younger siblings (and anyone else within earshot) with much more ribald interpretation. I still giggle when I remember some of the things we put in that hole to see if it would grow a ------ tree!

In an attempt to generate some income I decided to make up some hats and put them in our shop.  Nothing fancy, just the kind of thing to break up the hot sun but not the bank.  I had a lot of batiks in my stash left over from a big quilt project so it was nice to use up odds and ends. The ones for the babies were a LOT of work and while I'll never recoup my investment of time, it does pay for the fabric and helps me downsize my stash. It also gives me something productive to sew and that, more than anything else, seems to soothe my ever present anxieties.   It comes with the added bonus of listening to books on tape while I work. I check out digital books from my local library so there is no end of things to explore. Right now I'm listening to The Last Lion: Winston Spencer Churchill, Volume 3: Defender of the Realm, 1940‑1965.       

 I'm not a WWII aficionado but I'm fascinated with Churchill and completely in love with well written prose. No one writes like the English. I've been on a Jane Austen tear for about 3 weeks and find myself using expressions like, "My dear you must prepare yourself" when I tell my husband I have cleaned out the refrigerator and saved us all from death by salmonella and/or rotted food.

Sewing also helps me feel productive when when "PPP Down" is the only thing that  registers on my computer screen when I'm trying to find out why I'm off line ....AGAIN.  I have learned to reboot modems, re-initialize, delete setups and re-do them, and taken a ton of screenshots with dates to prove it all. I've learned you can't shame Verizon in to useful customer service or get an acknowledgement that it is THEIR problem. They are happy to have me pay for a repairman come out to my house to check their line. Inside the house - it's my problem and I'll pay for that. Outside? That's on you, Verizon.  My husband has an aversion to AT&T (his people invented the vendetta, you know) but I'm ready to pull the plug.  I'll just say, "In vain have I struggled. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how much I abhor Verizon. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever."  Frankly, I'd like to put Verizon in that "hole that I dig" and see if it grows a )#&*)@(*#&$  tree. Meanwhile, I plod along and take files on a flash drive to computers at work, or work on my iPad on a friend's wifi. (Comcast, in case you were wondering.) I'm just thankful my Bernina doesn't need an internet connection to work, but if it did I know Bernina would have some rockin' customer service!

Ninety for 90

My Aunt Addie is turning 90 in April. To celebrate this milestone, her kids arranged for each of the 90 days preceding her birthday to be marked with a unique gesture of love from one of her kin. I am one of the privileged members of my extended family to be invited to do so - and I say privileged because 1) I adore her and 2) there are waaayyy more than 90 people in my family to choose from. We are a proper and prolific Irish clan.

Aunt Addie has always been on short my list of people who I want to be when I grow up. My earliest memories of her involve big family gatherings in Madison, Nebraska, and how she and my Aunt Helen were in the center of it all, coordinating the feeding, caring and oversight and sleeping arrangements of a ton of hungry cousins.

In addition to raising large families, they were both nurses. I remember how competently and efficiently they managed the day when their mother (my Grandma McGill) had a stroke. I was in my early teens and pretty honked about not being able to play the cool organ Aunt Addie had in her house because they were trying to keep things quiet for Grandma. (Sorry, Grandma.) Once, my younger brother Steve was with her in a restaurant and they ordered coffee. When the waitress poured and Aunt Addie took a sip, the war-horse nurse in her came out when she said, "Oh, I could VOID coffee warmer than this." I think Steve spit his out when she said that, but it was such typical stuff from her. Aunt Addie kicks ass. A few years ago she went to see my Dad in the hospital. He was whining about wanting to go home. Once approved, she put him in her car and took him back to his assisted living facility, got out her walker and made the long trip to his room with him, got him settled and adjusted his catheter, grabbed her walker and made the long trek back to her car. (She later told one of my siblings that she wished his room was closer to the entrance.)

Aunt Addie was widowed early, but she pushed right on and maintained. She was the first one in the car for a trip to the casino, and still is - she loves to gamble. She makes it to family events, keeps track of who was who and does it all with astonishing humor and good grace. One of the best parts of going home to see my family is a trip to Madison to see her. I could sit at her kitchen table and listen to her for hours. She radiates wisdom, humor and good times.

My most precious memory of her is when Mom was in the hospital /hospice with pancreatic cancer. They cousins brought her out to Lexington so she could see her sister one more time and I was sitting in Mom's room when Addie arrived. Mom was pretty narc'd up at that point, but when Addie came in she raised her arms and thickly murmured, "Oh AAahhhdiiiee." Addie sat on the bed and held her little sister and talked to her, touched her face and the love was so unabashed and naked I had to look away. I've never witnessed such strength in my life. I weep now as I am writing this, remembering her grace, how she didn't lose it, she didn't cry, she just poured out such love and kindness and goodness. I'm sure she cried a river of tears later, but those last moments they had together were spectacularly beautiful. We should all be so lucky.

Back to the matter at hand - what am I going to do for my "Ninety for 90"? I thought about doing several different things, but many have already been done. She's had cakes, pies, flowers, phone calls. Chicago White Sox memorabilia, gift cards, lunches and dinner out - all kinds of great stuff. Since the economy is sour, one person minted her a trillion-dollar bill . She took it to the Senior Citizens lunch and presented it to pay for her meal. (They didn't have enough change.) Oh, and did I mention she is hand writing proper thank you notes to each of us for her gifts? She is grace personified. Wish her a happy birthday!

 

The Internet Wins

Part of having officially arrived at "Old Fart" status is coping with my hyper awareness of the lack of research, accuracy and useful information disseminated by the media. The demands of a 24 hour news cycle have made it impossible to give a story it's due and move on.  It has to be whipped into a frenzy and subject to all kinds of speculation by "experts" who clamor for attention and air time. Most troubling is how hard it has become to watch the news without frequently hearing, "according to unconfirmed reports" and "X Network News reports" when you are on a different network than X News and they don't have a clue if it is accurate but the teleprompter rolls with it anyway.   I understand how the Internet has conditioned us to expect instant access to events, but without any practiced eye reviewing them for content, factual accuracy or relevance? In doing that it has also made many of the people who bring us that news incredibly lazy.

This morning was a case in point.  For the second time in as many days, my husband (who serves in elected office) was misquoted regarding a city issue.  The really sad part?  I listened to him patiently  explain -  point by point - to the reporter how he was misquoted the day before, yet after all that the reporter went ahead and published the same damn misinformation for the second time.  Joe even attempted to help the kid out by recommending he call someone else connected with the story, to the extent he gave him the name, place of work and street the guy lives on to help him out.  The reporter's response?  "Oh.... I'll just Google it."  In the process of "just Googling it" the reporter came across some clearly outdated interviews and presented that information as current. Additionally, he didn't bother to "Google up" the one person who could clarify the information and make this article oh, I don't know, ACCURATE?

[caption id="attachment_2861" align="alignright" width="300"] Bass Rocks, Gloucester[/caption]

One of the things I love and admire most about Joe is his thick skin, his security in his own ego and his incredible ability to roll his eyes and shrug off the number of inaccuracies in newspaper ink.  My Irish soul rails up and demands action - he just shrugs it off as young-reporter-inevitable and goes peacefully on with his life. I admire that ability more than I can express. He is eleven years older and a diabetic, but he will surely outlive me because I will expire of repressed rage and angst. He is so "glass half full" that sometimes I want to strangle him. In fairness, he has wisely (and accurately) stated that if we were both of the same ilk, "We would have thrown ourselves off the rocks a long time ago."  Thank heavens for balance in the universe.

I bet a lot of "reporters" rely on Wikipedia "The Free Encyclopedia that ANYONE Can Edit!" and Google to do 95% of their job for them. Equally lazy college students are picking up material for term papers off the internet and then getting busted for plagiarism because there are software programs specially developed for colleges to combat such rampant abuse. Fast and easy trumps accurate and intelligently researched every time.

Let's end on a high note. One of the best commercials EVER made is this one by State Farm Insurance:



Yup, the internet wins.

I Did It. My Way.

We've already established that reading pattern directions is my kryptonite. Even when I was making dresses and blouses for Home Ec I needed help translating arrows and darts. The fact that my mother was a pretty accomplished "sewist" didn't help matters because she was left-handed and (to me) did everything upside down and backwards.

[gallery ids="2825,2826,2816"]

I wanted a purse made from my treasured stash of Japanese fabrics.  I knew how I wanted it to look, and I knew I had all the hardware and fabric and fusible fleece to do it.  I even had the right size hexagons to paper piece the top part so I dove right in and then spent an inordinate amount of time ripping it apart.  Ironically - I understand purse construction SO much better that now I might actually be able to tackle reading a pattern!

When I made this I tended to put pieces together and then say, "Hmm, I should have put those snaps in before I joined the 2 pieces together."  I honestly think I made a purse upside down and backwards.  While I don't think Mom would be proud,  it is finished.  I might need to remake one of the snap-in inserts, I got so caught up in stippling that the finished insert might be too heavy for the purse.  I was always so afraid to stipple but I'm finding it can be very Zen-like.  (It's also quite a workout for your upper arms, let me tell you!)  I have no explanation for my obsession with pockets other than to admit I have a fantasy of presiding over a completely organized purse. I bought a special zipper for the topmost closure - just in case those pockets get overstuffed and unseemly, I can zip the whole thing shut and no one will know.

I'd say it came out about 85% like what I wanted, and I might up that percentage after using it for a while. Think I'll move into it and give it a test drive next week.  But YAY, I finally (after years of waiting) did it!

The Advent of Advent

Even thought I still have to cope with idiots who do not know the meaning of Advent - I like Advent.  It begins on Sunday and is a familiar ritual involving  lit candles and a winter cleaning of the soul. I find myself taking inventory of the past year, what went down (vs. what did not -  like my weight) and thinking about what I want to do with the time I have left. Face it, at my age I know I have less time ahead of me than I do behind me and I'm good with that.  I'm tired, for Pete's sake, but I still want to make sure I use that time wisely and well.

I'm also busy making Christmas gifts because 1) I like to, and 2) all funds are delegated to paying bills and utilities.  I have a place  in the family room all cleared out for a Christmas tree - we can pick up a small one for very little and I have a need to get back to trimming a real tree that smells good, sheds needles - the works.  I like the long observance of Advent and slower Christmas.   I've never been one for the  Black Friday or Cyber Monday sales frenzy even when I did have money to shop.  I just don't particularly like shopping.  It seems a waste of time to me and is often very frustrating.  I like simple things, good lines, fine fabric and appreciate a nice seam finish. Try finding that these days.

Maybe that is why I can spend hours embroidering wool felt and watching Christmas movies.  Every ornament is unique, every movie gets better with another viewing.  Right now I'm watching ELF on an endless loop.  There are more good one-liners in that movie than in almost any other Christmas movie.  This past Sunday was the Downtown Santa Parade and while Santa looked pretty authentic sitting on top of the fire department's ladder truck, I knew it wasn't the REAL Santa and it was all I could do to not yell out, "YOU SIT ON A THRONE OF LIES!"

Slow down and enjoy the season. Life outside of the usual frantic holiday circus is pretty sweet and makes for better memories.

 

It's About Your Hair....

 

I know it's been a while but the slump continues. I've got a boatload of observations, rants and helpful advice for misguided youth but the fact of the matter is that no one really wants (or needs) to hear most of it. However, the "hair" thing is entirely different. I want to go over a few things about hair and as I'm still unemployed and getting more than a little manic about the whole thing, I'm going to indulge myself and throw down on hair.

I used to have long, thick, beautiful hair. When I would go in for a perm they would always use 2 kits because of all the H A I R. It was great. In 1987 I had ovarian cancer and my hormones shifted enough to leave me with very fine hair that was absolutely impossible to style. At this same time all the beauty shop stylists in the world had a huge secret conclave and decided to throw out all their curling irons and apparatus in favor of a round brush and a hair dryer. They could move more bodies through the chair that way, and I get that, but they also seem to really believe that every woman on the planet has hair that can be styled with merely a round brush, a hair dryer and the right "product." (Calling it "product" allows them to charge exorbitant prices.) I'm living proof it does not work. I still leave the salon looking like someone poured a bucket of water on the crown of my head - my hair is flat to my scalp. I've asked them to try different things - to no avail - and I'm running out of places to try so I'm thinking I'll just go to one of those drive-through $15 cut places because what the hell it doesn't make a difference anyway?

One of the most tremendously fabulous things about being unemployed is that I do NOT have to get up every day, wash & dry the hair, line up the products, curling irons (2 sizes) and bang out a presentable 'do. The release is intoxicating. I always knew doing the hair thing every day was a monumental pain in the ass but never realized just how big that pain (or that ass) was. Summer is the worst - it's already 90 degrees outside so who in their right mind wants to turn 10 minutes of hot, blasting air on your head? Then fire up the curling irons? Insane.

On days when I'm home I take a shower, comb my wet hair back and clip it in to place up and off my neck. It feels clean and tight to my scalp and OUT OF MY WAY and I absolutely LOVE IT. This is how most men have it, you know. They just bounce out of the shower, towel the head, give it a swipe with a comb and go. How did our gender get so blatantly ripped off? Don't' tell me a woman's hair is her crowning glory - my brain is my crowning glory thank you very much and my brain tells me this hair thing is way overrated and a monumental waste of time and money. I'm not completely without vanity - I did the complete "do" thing today because I have a board meeting tonight - but it has given me pause about how much time and money and TIME and wear and did I mention TIME and abuse we inflict on our hair and ourselves. Whassup with that? If we're not burning time styling it, we are busy removing it from legs, armpits, etc.

The proof of how deeply this is embedded in my subconscious became apparent to me in a dream last night. The Queen Mary II was in Gloucester harbor and a friend arranged for all of us to spend a week on board, just docked in port, but enjoying all the amenities of the beautiful ship. My husband Joe left the ship every morning to go to work at the store (he would do this in real life, BTW) while I had fun on the ship. The dream continued with me suddenly on land and meeting up with my friend John who was told me we were late and it was time to leave for the ship and a big black-tie gala dinner. Now, I do love me some black tie and remember thinking about how fun it sounded....and then I thought about staging the equipment to bang out the hair, etc., whether there was enough TIME to do a presentable job and I just thought, ".........nah. Too much work."

IN MY DREAM I THOUGHT THAT.

Even friends in my waking life are starting to notice my boycott. We had dinner at the yacht club the other night and I did the whole 9 yards with hair, etc. When we settled in on the patio for a drink, one of my closest buddies said, "Wow, you look fantastic! Really nice! See what happens when you make an effort?" I nearly dropped my drink. Conversation paused and I burst out laughing. Tom would never hurt a hair on a fly and I know he didn't mean it the way it sounded - but it was a gobstopper. He apologized profusely but I honestly knew what he was trying to say and wasn't offended. (FYI He's not off the hook- every time I see him I make a point of noting whether I did or didn't make an "effort" that day.)

[caption id="attachment_2729" align="alignleft" width="130"] Me, just after a haircut. Maybe a little longer hair - but basically spot on.[/caption]

Right now some stylist somewhere is reading this and saying, "Oh all you need is the right cut/product/technique." It has been 24 post-cancer years of trying and believe me, I've tried everything. (And why do stylists always think they know more about MY hair than I do? Have they spent 54 years with it?) Right now I'm sleeping in little sponge rollers to see if that works. I've spent months trying to grow it out so I have some length to play with, but it is tempting to go back to a short cut and just do the "Mo" look. It's what I end up looking like anyway. My husband knows not to comment negatively about my hair regardless of how I decided to deal with it that day. He is a smart man who knows he will live longer that way.

So think about it. Think about all the time and effort and expense. Maybe it's my advancing age (and advancing wisdom, BTW) but I'm taking a new look at the whole "hair" thing and see where it goes.

 

Getting "IT"

It's never a good sign when I'm playing around with the look of my blog. It is an indicator of  one of two things: brain freeze ( I got nuthin')  or time-out (when I'm stressed, heat stressed, anxiety stressed, etc. and anything I put on the internet would be of the shock and awe variety, and not the "good" shock and awe, either. ) So there you go.  I'm playing with the look of my blog.  (Okay, I'm in time-out.)

In the meantime I have an amazing labor of love to occupy my hands.  A very good friend has one of the wall hangings made by my mother. We used to sell them in our store here in Gloucester and then mail a check back to her where she would cash it in and buy more quilting fabric.  (Mom kicked ass that way.)     Linn  has had this beauty hanging in her home for many years and recently asked me to take it home and give it a wash - she was nervous about doing it herself.  Okey dokey.  Washed. Line dried in the approaching scorching heat.  When I took it down I noticed that the sleeve on the back of the hanging had some places where the threads had just let go.  Age happens.  I found a spool of black thread and a sharp needle and I'm redoing the entire sleeve.  It is a miracle that I'm able to do it without clutching it to my chest, crying, and refusing to let it go.  (Eleven years later I think I'm finally making progress with my  grief.)  I'm actually enjoying the process, loving the chance to work on something my mom made, and grateful for the fact that Linn GETS IT.

There are not a lot of people out there who "get it" when it comes to quilts or, for that matter, anything hand crafted.  Paintings in galleries are found "worthy" but quilts, knit socks, hats or scarves are just KRAFTY with a K and not "worthy" of being looked at as serious creative expressions that require time and talent.  It has been an uphill battle for years.  To show my serious intent I was going to start a quilt guild here in Gloucester and call it "Quilt Bitches" and we'd all get Harley-Davidson tattoos (but the motorcycle would have a quilted seat.)  Cool, right? 'Cept I'd never get a tattoo.

A quilter's quest for street cred is apparently a life-long venture.  This is made more difficult by The Learning Channel's newest program, Craft Wars, hosted by..... TORI SPELLING.  Seriously, TLC?  I personally believe the only time she's had a hot glue gun in her hand was when she was replacing some hair extensions that had fallen out. A Twitter peep of mine remarked that  while she did watch the debut show,  she found "Tori's  clown-like makeup distracting."  TLC needs to learn (oohh, how ironic...) that credibility is an important part of attracting an intelligent and respectful audience who - when given intelligent content from creditable sources - have a way of going out and spending money with the show's sponsors to recreate those ideas in their own home.  It's a concept.

Time to get back to sewing the sleeve on this wall hanging.  Linn was skittish about  washing it herself because she wanted to make sure it was done carefully and properly because she loves this thing as much as I do.  She respects the time, effort, labor and creativity that went in to producing it. She gets it.

The Quest for Unscented Anything

A few weeks ago we celebrated Joe's milestone birthday with an outdoor party.  I really enjoy using my nice linens and vintage pitchers and containers for vases and candles.  I think it makes the party more personal when you celebrate it with things that are special to you. The problem came when I went in search of candles for the centerpieces. I love me some fire on the table and usually have a formidable stash of candles but alas, I had apparently (and literally)  burned through my supply. No probs, I thought, I'll just pick up some more.

NOT.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to find unscented candles?  I'm talking about pillar candles here, not a wimpy tea light or formal tapers (I always have those) - I wanted a nice, sturdy candle that would burn for hours. (Hey, my friends are 1) thirsty and 2) big talkers.) We have long, luxurious "dinner in Italy" style meals.  It's the BEST.  Anyway, I burned a lot of time and gasoline in my quest and came up with butkus.  I was more than annoyed - I was ticked off.  Really folks, do you want to smell "woodsy pine" or "cinnamon apple" when you are eating dinner?  No.  Why is everything SCENTED?  Why do people buy home deodorizers that run continuously and make their houses smell like a powder room?  Why not save the money and spend a little time finding the source of what is making your house smell so bad that you need to install a 24/7 deodorizer?  Jimmy Hoffa's body has to be somewhere, right?

Admittedly, my pale Irish skin is oversensitive to scented lotions and products. So is my pale Irish nose. I am on a quest to locate a lifetime supply of Dove unscented deodorant. I loved it and can no longer find it among the 24 varieties they now offer.  Really, Dove?  I used to love your unscented body wash and you had to mess with that, too.  You used to be the industry standard for not-crapping-up-products-with-cloying-fragrance.  If I try a new a shampoo or hairspray and I love the results  it still goes right into the trash if the scent is cloying and overpowering.  I smell it ALL DAY LONG. 

Back to the candles.  I solved my dilemma at the grocery store.  No, they did not carry unscented candles.  They did carry Yahrzeit candles and I could not believe I didn't think of it sooner. ( I spent 4 years as a nanny for a Jewish family where I learned about the tradition of burning that candle on the anniversary of the death of a loved one.  Always loved the idea.) I bought six of them and took them home to put in the arrangements.

The finished product was lovely - I grouped them on the smaller table the next morning and we had a lovely, private brunch. (We were house sitting.) Of course we honored the intent of the Yahrzeit candle.  We lit six candles - three for Joe's mother, father, and his only brother who have gone before us.  We lit two for my parents, also gone before us. We lit the final one for the pregnancy we had that didn't make it all the way to the finish line.  While we wanted all of those souls to be present it was simply not possible. We  took comfort in the fact that we were able to remember them with such deep love and light - and so privately,  just between the two of us.

It was a wonderful evening and the candles burned blissfully unscented long into the night. We shared memories, gave speeches, talked about the people we love and gave thanks for the people in our lives, living or not-so-living.  Joe had me in tears when he talked about the "luckiest day in his life, July 4, 1987."  (The day we met.)  How wonderful is that? I love happy endings.

Life in First Class

We have already established how I feel about weddings on holiday weekends so you can imagine my chagrin when I was invited to one such event held this past Memorial Day weekend. When the invitation arrived I felt confidently "off the hook" as the wedding was in Nashville. Case closed, right?

Wrong.  The bride's doting uncles wanted me along for the ride - and the fun - and proposed an all expense paid trip to "Nash-Vegas" for the wedding.  First-class airfare, hotel and EVERYTHING.  How can you say no to THAT?  I sure as hell could not  so I decadently packed a whole suitcase (not having to share space with Joe!) and learned the ways of First Class air travel.  It was like a dream.

The first stop was priority check in where I checked my big honkin' suitcase.... with no fee.  Walked down to the boarding area carrying my only my ticket and a big purse. Boarded first.  Sat in the first row (all 4 segments).  Was treated with courtesy and offered my choice of beverages and nibbles. (Sidebar - I don't drink on airplanes. Bummer.) (Sidebar II - I can't pee on airplanes. Seriously. TMI, I know. )

As a  25 year veteran of flying steerage I found the entire experience A-MAY-ZING. The worst, most hated part of taking a trip became positively pleasant. It made me think back to the long ago days when EVERYONE could check a bag - nay, 2 - without a charge.  When seats and spacing between rows was reasonable. When you could climb in and out of your coach seat without the use of WD-40, a crowbar and a colon compactor.

[caption id="attachment_2601" align="alignleft" width="300"] First Class Hat - Purchased in Nashville![/caption]

I am sure  my next trip will be absolutely miserable by comparison. I resent that. I don't expect the First Class experience with what I can afford but there were  aspects of this trip that were once commonplace to those of us who routinely do the walk-of-shame past the First Class passengers on our way back to the goat pens.

I don't fly much anymore because flying has become such an ORDEAL.  I never fly to New York anymore, I take the train. I'll take a train anywhere, even if it costs more and takes longer.  It's worth it. It is worth it in civility, personal space and fees.  It is especially worth it since you don't have to deal with nimrod TSA agents with a power complex.

The wedding?  The service was lovely and the bride stunningly beautiful. (She spent 2 summers here and I was the pseudo-Aunt).  The soloist sang Schubert's "Ave Maria" which usually reduces me to tears but since she totally American Idol'd it I was left more annoyed than moved. ( Luckily I managed to restrain myself and not stand up and beat a tempo on my leg and yell, "knock off the Mariah Carey shit, girl.")  When Laura came up the aisle on the arm of her Dad I flashed back to my own dear Dad taking that walk with me......and I burst into tears.  Bark-like-a-seal tears. Whatever.   Oh yes, do let me report that  Nashville had RECORD HIGH TEMPS the entire weekend and the reception was not air-conditioned.  Jeebus.  We survived, it was wonderful fun and we all had a fabulous time.  Nashville is a blast - I highly recommend a visit but do it in October or November.....

The Tao of Ed and Quilter Manure

[caption id="attachment_2571" align="alignleft" width="266"] Ed[/caption]

This is Ed.  He is the new sock monkey I purchased at a serendipitous stop at a church rummage sale.

On Saturday I drove up to Lowell, Massachusetts,  to visit my career alma mater the The New England Quilt Museum.  It was with mixed emotions - I miss the place terribly but the looong commute, the price of gas and the combined toll it took on my body and pocketbook made the decision for me.  As I pulled off  I-93 and began the storybook-beautiful drive down Rte. 133 I remembered Saturday mornings were prime-time for yard sales all along the route but I could never stop and poke around (as I would be late for work) so for five long years I resisted the temptation.

HAH.

That was all behind me as I cruised along and spied a lovely church lawn cluttered with tables and merchandise and  people swarming about.  The first table I walked up to was managed by a quilter who was selling off her book collection and had some fantastic books all selling for a mere $5 a pop.  I love it when karma happens.  I managed to restrict myself to an armful and wandered to the next table where I found ED.  Ed had to come home with me. I've wanted a sock monkey doll fah-evah (local Gloucester dialect) and he was adorable.  I didn't name him, he just told me his name when I tucked him in to the passenger seat among my new/old books.  It happens that way with me, I swear.

Ed and I continued on to the museum for a wonderful reunion with co-workers and quilts. I was completely blown away by the Fenway Park Centennial show - Rosemary Baun is a tremendously talented quilter. Even if you're not a die-hard Red Sox fan (and I'm not)  it was well worth a visit.  The imagination and creativity were rockin'!  The quilts up in the permanent collection room(s) were breathtaking.  It was all good.  What made it better was the special program presented by Shelly Zegart who created and produced the DVD documentary Why Quilts Matter - History, Art and Politics .  I've been a big fan and supporter of this important and alternately hysterically funny and sobering work for ages and it pleased me no end to see a room full of people  become enlightened and engaged too. Bonus - I finally got to meet Shelly and she is a peach, as was her husband, sister and brother-in-law. (Apparently they have a family requirement to be bright, intelligent and maintain a rippin' sense of humor.) I'm sure their website was inundated with people wanting to watch segments online and learn more about the program.  Guild reps in attendance perked right up when, after seeing segment samples, they realized the programing value inherent in the production. A win-win and bang for the buck. What's not to love?

On the drive home Ed and I talked about the responsibility quilters have to support each other in their work.  It applies to supporting any of the arts - it doesn't just fall out of the sky, people. The expression, "Money is like manure -  if you leave it in a pile it rots, you have to spread it around to do any good" has been attributed to many people but it doesn't lessen the truth or importance of the statement. We all want the quilting culture  and industry to thrive.  Ed says that while few of us have Medici money to be patrons we can buy a ticket or a book, throw a few bucks into a membership (even if it is far away and we can't visit often), support research and programing and - GET  A LOAD OF THIS - benefit ourselves from what we have fertilized.  Sometimes this means paying a few dollars more for a book or a pattern than we would if we could find it for on, say, Amazon.  To be truthful, Amazon doesn't need my money and doesn't support my community. Besides, after they tack on inflated shipping and "handling" fees the difference really. isn't. that. much.   I'd rather buy it directly from the quilter, the author, the designer - you get my drift.  The quilting industry is a THREE AND A HALF BILLION DOLLAR A YEAR BUSINESS.  That is not a typo.  Ladies and gentlemen of quilt nation that is a LOT of manure.  Look at where you spread it very carefully.  Pay attention to where leave it.  Spread it in worthy places but most important of all: SPREAD IT.  I guarantee by doing so not only the scholarship, books, patterns, fabric and RESPECT for your most beloved art will bloom and grow and thrive, but YOU will bloom and grow and thrive as a  quilter, quilt artist, historian, academic.....

Mother's Day 101 Redux

It's that time again.

I said it once and it bears repeating.   As a reminder, "Mothers Day 101" - check it out.

Why Quilts Matter DVD Give-Away

 

EDIT:  Carla Langendoen of Cora Quilts was the DVD winner. Hope to see you blog your thoughts about the series, Cora!

 

When working at the New England Quilt Museum I was fortunate enough to get a peek at a DVD called Why Quilts Matter: History, Art and Politics from Shelly Zegart and the Kentucky Quilt Project, Inc.  I loved it.  I talked to the TV while I watched it. I wrote a blog entry about it and was later asked to write a guest blog for their website.  Before any of that happened I purchased two copies of the DVD so I could own one and donate the other to my local library. I feel that strongly about it, and  continue to encourage others to do the same. (BTW, there is no monetary compensation involved here)

A few weeks ago I was contacted by the Why Quilts Matter people (who are kickass fun, BTW) and asked to view one section of the documentary and write some study-group type questions for a new Continuing the Conversation guide to the series. I was delighted to do so, and was sent a copy of the DVD as a "thank you" gift.  Since I already have a copy I decided to give away the gift copy.  I really don't like the whole blog "give-away" thing, mostly because I never win and  really think some of you guys are all up in your head when you require people to jump through hoops and do 94 things in order to qualify.  There, I said it.  THIS will be a very simple, straightforward give-away.

To enter:   Send me a fat quarter of Liberty of London fabric.

HAH! See what I did there?  Okay, seriously, go check out their website - you are on your honor. Then, leave a comment with your fantasy quilting or sewing notion.  For example: my fantasy sewing notion is a bobbin that works with a spool of thread. You throw a spool on top of the machine, snap a spool in the bobbin case and you sew like a maniac for days - no stopping to reload the )(#&*()@#&$ bobbin.  What is your fantasy notion? Maybe some genius out there will create it and we'll all be happy.

In about a week I'll holler downstairs (to my husband), "Pick a number between 1 and ----" and that will be the winner. (I'll have to do it a couple of times because he is deaf as a haddock and I have to repeat everything about three times.) Sigh.

Okay, let's have it - what are your brilliant ideas?  PS - the DVD is great for individuals or guilds or groups - lots of topics and good information. (But you knew that from going to their website, right?)

Using the "Good" Scissors

My mother had a nice pair of Gingher scissors that were to be used ONLY on fabric.  She did a lot of garment construction - clothes for her kids -  but later she became a quilter.  As children we were roundly and soundly clobbered if we took the "good" scissors and used them to cut up paper or magazines or newspapers.

Fast forward to about six months ago when I saw a much smaller pair of Ginghers that called my name. I could not resist the siren song of having a really, really good pair of scissors so I took the plunge.  They came in a lovely little box which I kept open on my cutting table so I could admire them then and relish the pride of ownership.  It was enough for me to just have them. I was content to keep them,  save them for something "good."

Fast forward again to about two weeks ago when I crashed and burned on a baby quilt for my niece. I've been doing this long enough to know that when things go south you need to just. walk. away. and come back later when the fog clears.  I decided to take a bag of leftover quilt scraps and try my hand a paper piecing hexagons. (Note:  do not start paper piecing hexagons - EXTREMELY addictive.)  I went to grab a scissors to trim up the hexies when, for some unexplainable reason, I busted out the Ginghers.

You know where this is going.  I could not believe the difference.  Like a hot knife through cold butter, this thing sliced and clipped like a laser.  I was  thrilled with the results, the ease of cutting, the razor crisp edges. Like dawn breaking over Marblehead (local joke) I realized it was STEWPID to keep things "for good."  What if I get hit buy a bus tomorrow?  What was I waiting for?  WHY DO WOMEN DO THIS?  Because honestly I know I am not the only one. Every woman on the planet has something put away "for good" and most of those things will never see use or the light of day. Why do we do this?  So we have something to look forward to?  Is the "looking forward to" part better than the actual joy of using it or wearing it or whatever the hell it is we're trying to capture?  I don't know, but I don't think so. I'm not getting any younger and I'm tired of waiting.  Not only am I going to use these Ginghers, but I'm gonna bust out some cash and pick up one of the new Gingher Seam Rippers.  You heard me. Retractable blade, beeuches.  Who says quilters are old ladies with afghans in their laps?  I'm armed and dangerous.  I run with scissors. ( Really, really GOOD ones. )

1-800-RATIONALIZE

With the multi-whammy of additional, unexpected income taxes due, an expensive major appliance "shitting the bed" (Joe's favorite saying and I've just picked it up because....it's so.... accurate), finding out the source of my knee problems is a torn meniscus and the upcoming one year anniversary of the loss of my Dad all rolling up on me.........well, I kind of had a meltdown. "Kind of" in the sense that I didn't actually throw anything (hey, I've grown. Besides, I don't wear high heels anymore and I'm out of spackle) but everything else cut loose in a peri-menopausal-chronic-pain-grieving-hormonal rage of tears, angst and depression.  My dark Irish side can throw down with the best of 'em.

So what to do?  I needed to drive.  Serious "get out of Dodge" driving. That isn't possible here because it's too congested and populated. No wide open spaces and long reaches of road and open sky.  This therapy always worked for me when I lived in Nebraska but in Massachusetts - well, it's not happening.  I still wanted to make a road trip and maybe do a little retail therapy ( a logical response to a cash-strapped crisis, right?) and pick up some Kaffe Fassett fabric I've been coveting for, oh, years.  Seriously coveting.

[caption id="attachment_2521" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="I did not buy ALL of these....just some...."][/caption]

Normally I would call my sister Pat before embarkation. Pat is the queen of rationalization.  You can call her and ask her about anything  and she will give you really good reasons to 1) do it or 2) buy it.  What I came up with would pale in comparison but I think it was pretty respectable in a dark, depressive kind of way.

Mother's Day is approaching.  I was not blessed with motherhood and my mother has been gone many years but I'm still pissed off.  She was 69. Pancreatic cancer.  (Insert "f" word here....)  Those of us with infertility and failed adoption issues have always found MD to be a trauma-inducing "holiday" that personally guts me like a fish.  When life gives you lemons, make lemonade - right?  I started thinking about all the MD presents I've never received, all the cards and flowers and - well, that adds up to some serious cash, right? So, feeling sorry for myself, I felt free to go ahead and spend a little of what my husband and/or kids would have spent.  Bingo - rationalized.

I had a lovely time at Portsmouth Fabric getting overwhelmed by bolts and bolts of amazingly beautiful fabric.  That alone made me feel better. Quilters will understand how that works.  I even had some laughs with the staff as a siren kept sounding in the distance and we couldn't figure out what it was until some guy stuck his head inside the door and said, "I think that is the siren from Seabrook!"  (Local nuclear power plant. I am not kidding.)  I stood there and thought about where I was and if there was indeed a core meltdown I'd be dead pretty fast.  Then I kept shopping.  What better place to be?  My husband and family all know I love them - we never separate without saying so - and I'm pretty much right with my Lord.... so I kept shopping and discussing (with the shop ladies) where the nearest bar with the best food was just in case it really was the "end of time" or something. I figured I'd fare pretty well at my judgement if my Mom saw me with a vodka tonic in my hand - she'd claim me in a minute just to have a sip or two. Or three.

Then I drove back home and listened to another podcast from Pray As You Go.  You have got to love the Jebbies, they come up with some really good stuff.  Anyway, I did a lot of thinking, a lot of sorting out and a whole lot of mental housecleaning. When I got home I made a new sign for my sewing room and put a copy of it in my bathroom.



It's out there.  It's all around me.  I have a feeling it would save me a lot of the time I spend worrying - AKA threading beads on a string with no knot at the end. I'm going to find joy every day.  Wish me luck. I need some joy.

PS - here is a great start.  I never watch these things but for some reason I did this one. WOW.

Caine's Arcade

My Night at the Opera (House)

The Boston Opera House is a magnificent theater built in 1925 and recently renovated and restored to the tune of $50 million dollars. Friend-Joe is a huge fan of theater and as Husband-Joe is not, Friend-Joe is my perfect companion for a night of musical magic. Perfect because he not only pays for everything (woo hoo!) but he has impeccable taste (dinner at Blu before, dessert after) and all I have to do is take the train in to Boston and meet him there. I don't even have to drive home - he does!   Bonus - I was on a crowded Green Line train and since he arrived at the restaurant before I did he ordered my favorite martini and had it delivered just as I sat down.  My mother was right. Every woman needs 2 husbands - a straight one for sex, and a gay one for everything else.

The Opera House was filled to capacity (or at least it was after the first late-seating interval which brought in about 75 more people) for a production of Les Miserables. I was completely dismayed to learn you could (and were encouraged) to buy drinks at the lobby bar and take them in to the theater. Seriously?  You can't watch the first act without a drink in your hand?  Worse yet I kept hearing plastic cups fall to the floor as people finished their drinks.  I realize theaters are in desperate financial straits and the revenues from liquor must be a boon, but It felt like being in a crappy movie theater.

Late arrivals kept pouring in well into the first act. I'm amazed that so many people  would spend that much money on a ticket and be 20 minutes late for the show. Whatever. The first act was wonderful. At intermission, up came the lights and the following thing happened:

If you click on the fuzzy (sorry) picture, you can see everyone obsessively punching open their phones and checking their messages and email.  Whoa. I had my iPod touch in my purse (podcasts for the train ride) and snapped a quick picture of the ocean of obsession/compulsion surrounding me.  It made me very, very sad.

Then things got worse.  Everyone returned for the 2nd act (with their beverages properly replenished) and the 12-ish year old girl sitting next to me started leaning her head on (I'm guessing) her grandmother's shoulder and complained she did not feel well.  The grandmother (who was humming along off-key with the music) did not appear to care. Bitch had that "I've waited a year for this night and NOTHING is going to budge me" look on her face. (You'll agree with the use of the "B" word - keep reading).  I tried to concentrate on the show but when the girl started sipping water...and then spitting it up on the floor.....and heaving and spitting..... I wanted to be sucked into a black hole.  I knew if one whiff of that hit my nostrils I would be joining her pronto.  The grandmother?  She just kept patting the little girl on the back and humming (serious pitch problems) along with the show.  I was flabbergasted.  I was PISSED. Not only was she a pain in the ass with her humming, but  I could not believe she wasn't going to turf that poor child out of there pronto.  Then the poor girl started dry-heaving again in earnest and I must have jumped into Friend-Joe's lap because he whispered, "Do you want to go stand in back?" and I said, "Yes!" and we were out of our seats and up the aisle in a nanosecond.  We watched the last 10 minutes of the show from there and applauded the curtain calls as a sea of douchbags -  er - people stormed the exits like there was a raging fire. Show some courtesy, people, applaud the effort and appreciate the talent - it's a LIVE PERFORMANCE for pete's sake.  Then (and only then) the B-word grandmother comes sauntering up the aisle with her still-heaving, softly crying young charge and she looked at us,  shrugged her shoulders and said, "Accidents happen!" like it was nothing at all.  I was torn between whether I should call  Child Protective Services or  just bitch slap the woman right there. What a terrible thing to do to a child.

Walking back to Blu for dessert Friend-Joe and I talked about the decline of our civilization. The Boston Opera House was absolutely stunning - elegant, opulent, dripping in class. The audience was largely the complete opposite.  I am deeply disturbed by such a culture shift.  I found the movie-theater concessions and people bolting from their seats disturbing.  I've had to abandon movie theaters because I can't deal with all the talking, the flashing smart phones, texting, feet up on the seats -  and the trashy floors.  Now I have to abandon live theater?  I feel like I'm turning in to what I used to call an "Old Fart" but now I understand why older people want to stay home and be left alone.  I'm right there. RIGHT there. Honest.

Just Following Procedure

For the n-teenth time I recently found myself with an IV in my hand, a blood pressure cuff on my arm, an oxygen monitor on my finger, and my bare ass in the air awaiting yet another "procedure."  I got to thinking about a few things (good drugs can do that), my long medical history, how healthcare delivery has changed, and just when did surgery become  merely a "procedure"?

I always thought a procedure was a series of things you did in a certain order to accomplish something.  (To make a cake you must assemble the ingredients, follow the recipe, bake the thing, and at the end of all that effort you have a cake.  FYI - If you do any of that out-of-order you will NOT get a cake.)  There are procedures flight attendants follow for take-off, there is a procedure for building a house, and there is a procedure for doing your income taxes.

I believe the insurance companies got together and decided if they stop calling it "surgery" and start calling it a "procedure" it wouldn't sound like a big deal and they could kick people out of the hospital on the same day - or if it involved amputation, maybe the next day. Better yet - don't even go to a hospital at all! Let's do it all in the doctor's office -  it's just a "procedure" after all!  For anything involving anesthesia....we'll invent a surgical suite thingy where doctors can see patients in one room and go across the hall to the surgical suite for the "procedures." Bonus - let's not call it "anesthesia"  anymore (because you'd need an anesthetist for THAT) - let's call it "sedation".

See how they did that?  Who says health insurance needs reforming?

I would like some reform.  A  little.  An effort? I don't deal with any kind of anesthesia well, although I have been told I am a whole lot of fun when I am coming out of it. This time around  I was waking up in the "surgical suite" when I heard someone knocking on the door.  My response?  "Penny? Penny? Penny? PENNYPENNYPENNYPENNY?"  I thought it was hysterical.  No one else did. Apparently they felt the fact that I was laughing like a hyena meant that I was well enough to be put in a car and driven home.  This is Joe's least favorite part of "procedures" - the nausea fueled race to get back to Gloucester before I throw up in the car. (Sorry, graphic content.) It's awesome. It keeps our romance alive, baby.

I have come to believe we will soon see mobile procedure trucks coming to our

[caption id="attachment_2476" align="alignright" width="268" caption="We Were Trained For This in Our Youth!"][/caption]

homes (like those dog groomers) where they  fix you up in the truck right there in the driveway.  After you are finished you can get your mail and walk up the sidewalk right back in to your house (with the entire neighborhood seeing your bare ass sticking out of a procedure gown.  (They won't be called "hospital gowns"  because.... there won't be any hospitals.)

In addition to the Big Bang Theory, we watch a lot of House Hunters (hey, it's good comic relief). There are a LOT of people out there who think they can't buy a house if the color of the rooms isn't to their liking. ( I am not making that up. )  Can you imagine what that show will be like in the year 2019 when people have to look for a house that can accommodate a growing family and all of their "procedures"?  "I like the space, but I just can't see myself getting a pap smear /  knee replacement / appendix removed in a room that needs so much updating - and the wall color (eyeroll) ewww!"

Robot Vomit on Wedding Invitations

You heard me.

"Enlightening" young engaged couples is apparently my lot in life. This happens because 1) my husband owns a stationery and gift shop and 2) I am hyper-vigilant about  the incredible lapse in civility, judgement, maturity, taste, and corresponding oceans of BS made manifest in twenty-first century weddings.

Today's case in point:  QR codes on wedding invitations.  For the uninitiated, QR (Quick Response) codes are a digitally generated, barf-like patches that look like this:

When viewed on a smart phone or android device (with the proper software installed) the device will "beep" and go to a website with more information about the product, project or whatever is being advertised.   Appropriate for some applications involving commerce, but weddings (as commerce related as they have become) are not an appropriate application.

Seriously, people are putting QR codes on their wedding invitations to "help" their guests learn ever so much more about THEIR SPECIAL DAY (TSD). While the average wedding guest already has to endure continuous updates on TSD, it seems to me that the first step is  a review of the invited guests and the whole procedure in general.

Having finished that, let's look at the reality of QR codes.  Any digital innovation is "state of the art" for approximately 15 minutes. Do you really want your wedding invitation to bear the visual equivalent of a leisure suit or Members Only jacket? Aside from looking just plain fugly, the entire concept is in keeping with the dumbing-down of civilized society.  "What do you mean, I have to actually READ something?" Why do I foresee a future when people will receive a wedding e-vite with a QR code or link to 1)RSVP, 2)select a gift from the bridal registry, 3) attend via SKYPE and 4) fart, scratch and go back to watching their movie without breaking a sweat or giving any actual thought to people involved?  Good heavens people, get your heads out of your digital asses already.

Swap Performance Anxiety- Part 2: THE REVEAL

My first online swap - a fun thing people do, and quilters (apparently) do a LOT.  I've never had the nerve until this December when a Twitter peep suggested an online swap. (Please review Swap Performance Anxiety - Part I).

So who did I get?  Some nice quilter in the hinterlands who, like me, had never ventured into the swap arena?  Someone who would, like me, be under the radar?

NOPE.

I got a Zombie.  The Happy Zombie, Monica Solorio-Snow, designer of the fabric line Happy Mochi Yum Yum, "heroin" to many quilters.  I was dealt a published fabric designer, pattern designer - you get the drift.  Sweet merciful crap - you can understand what happened in my colon when I read that name and thought, "What the )#(*&)@(#  am I gonna do for her?"

I ended up chickening out and selecting a few Japanese fat quarters, adding some ribbon in her much-loved colors, and embroidering a little wool bird to satisfy my own need to include something "home-made" in the packet.  Then I tucked it into a cloth wine bottle gift bag I'd made ages ago and put it in the mail.  Then I had a drink.

A few days later, the Twitter feed heated up:

She was lovely.  She was warm and real and kind. I felt ridiculous for being so worked up about doing something for someone so accomplished.  One of the best things about people who do what they love is that they know and appreciate things that other people do for them because they know how much time and thought goes into creating things.  I have on more than one occasion  made dinner for a former chef of  Maison Robert in Boston.  When I confessed my anxiety she said, "You'll never know how much I love it when other people cook for me - it's just a joy to sit back, relax and enjoy the meal."

So there.  Let's all just relax.  Let's just, in the immortal words of Paul McCartney, "Let it be." It's so easy at this time of year to get all up in our heads about what we must do, produce, create and provide.  Let it go.  Let it be.  Rejoice in each other - the days we all have together are not as numerous as we'd like to think, the holidays are numbered and do not to be Martha Stewart TV perfect. (Seriously. Besides, she is loaded and she has paid staff. Who wouldn't be fabulous?)

Rule number one: don't sweat the small stuff. 

Rule number two:  it's all small stuff. 

~Robert Eliot

Swap Performance Anxiety - Part I

We've already covered my anxiety issues with creativity in art, but I've taken it to a new level.  In the world of social media, the online quilter community is alive, well and active!  I ventured in to an online swap organized by an online peep  who threw out the idea of having a secret Santa swap via Twitter. I jumped right on that idea as a great way to venture in to my first-ever swap.   (Disclosure - in the evenings, I sit with my iPad and enjoy an adult beverage while I read through the tweets of like-minded quilters, comics, and others.) These "adult beverages" get me to do things I might not normally do if my performance anxiety fears are not properly repressed.

ANYWAY, I signed up for my first swap.  It took a little time for Amy to sort out the participants (I think there are over 50 of us) and get us all partnered off. There is a $15 limit, it can be hand made or not, and finished and in the mail  by December 10th.  Easy peasy, right?  Right.

Sure. Unless the Secret Santa Swap partner is a quilting uberstar.  Holy crap.  When I saw the name I nearly fell over.  My first reaction was to bail out.  Honest.  What do you do for someone like that?  I spent the first week just spiraling.  I spent the next week attempting to do some sashiko in her favorite colors.  It came out nice, but not "here is something I made just for you" nice, but "what the hell are you on" nice.  I caved in and set it aside. It's not that bad, just not good enough to offer someone with her background.  Crap.  It's just a swap, right?  It's not eternal judgement, right?

In the end, I decided to.....WAIT.  I mailed the package today and I can't really say what it is in it until it is received by my partner.  I'll reveal who it is (and what I sent) in a later post.  In looking at the pictures of what other swappers sent (on a Flickr page) I'm feeling pretty okay about what I ended up doing.  Not great..... but okay.  That's enough for me, the twin sister of Stuart Smalley:

Black Friday Fail

About three weeks ago I "hit the slide" at work and gave my notice.  I've been juggling 4 different jobs for some time now and the mental and physical toll it has taken has proven to be WAY. TOO. MUCH.  When you find yourself standing at the front door of your house trying to get in using the remote door opener for your car - it's time to step back. When you collapse in tears because it isn't working and you can't figure out how you will get inside your house....well, desperate times call for desperate measures. (PS I've still got a part-time bookkeeping job and I work at my husband's store, so it's not like I'm really free......)

I'm cashing in the 10 hours a week I spent on the road for some sleep and rest. I've had a few days at home to begin the process of uncoiling my tightly wrapped head and body and I have the following observations to make:

1. I can still sleep for hours like a champ.


2. There is an unbelievable amount of CRAP on TV.


3. What the hell is going on with "Black Friday"?

I'll say right up front:  I think stores should be closed on Sundays. Period. With the extended hours and 24 hour openings of most drugstores, there really isn't any urgent reason for stores to be open on Sundays. Seriously. With that in mind, you won't be surprised to hear me bitch about store openings on Thanksgiving. When did it become a matter of life and death for stores to be open ON Thanksgiving Day?  Or at 4am?  or 6AM on Black Friday? Target I think you should be horsewhipped.  Do you hate your employees that much? I'm boycotting you for the foreseeable future.  WalMart? Oh hell,  I stopped shopping at your stores years ago so I'm not wasting my breath acknowledging your existence and continued scorched-earth policies. I really don't get the whole "thing" about getting up early to go shopping but then I'm not a recreational shopper.  For me it's a chore. Besides, I can't think of a single thing that would move my tail out of bed at 4 AM on a cold, dark November morning. Not. A. Single. Thing.

Ever hear that expression, "Money is like manure - you've got to spread it around"? I choose to spread my fertilizer around where I live. Area shops have the most wonderful (and unique) gifts. There is a new toy store that has the coolest things I've ever seen. They also have an art supply store! I'd go nuts in there, but I'd be buying for myself. There are a couple of great locally owned, non-chain coffee shops for when you need to rest and refuel. I'm betting your town has the same kind of deal going but too often people overlook the local shops or take the time to go and see what is there to choose from.   (Most of them haven't set foot in downtown for years and have no accurate clue about what is or isn't available.)  To these people I say, "STUPID. STUPID."  You must have time and money to burn.  Good for you.  I don't.

There is the argument that you'll save money if you go to malls, but I'm concerned with more than that -  I'm looking at the time and effort and the cost of gas it takes to get there.  Spend $10 more for a sweater in town or save $10 and go to the mall.... let's see,  it is a 46 mile round trip, about 3 hours (including driving and shopping), working my way through the crows, waiting in line or ..... for $10 more I'm home in 5 minutes?  Bonus - a local small business owner gets a little help?  For me - that's a no brainer. Win win.

There is a wonderful campaign called Small Business Saturday that encourages people to shop locally once a month.  The impact would be absolutely life changing for your town, your community and your friends.  Support local artists - buy handmade.  Do it often, not just once a month.  Change the world. Tell the big banks to suck it.  OCCUPY MAIN STREET.  Do the right thing, do it as often as you can. Everyone wins and for that we can all give thanks - hopefully from the  peace and quiet of our own snug homes.