Minor change of plans

I've been thinking of doing a little re-branding of my bid-ness.

Like, I was toying with the idea of going from The Whimsical Crafter to

The Whimsical Crafter with Carpel Tunnel.

What do you think?

???

Oh, didn't I tell you?

Yes, my hands are shot.

I may be exaggerating, slightly.  But as of the last several weeks, I can't do anything with my hands.  Like felt, or string felt balls, or open jars of hot fudge.  Typing feels okay, but there's still this soreness that runs from my wrists to my shoulders so maybe that's not actually a good thing.

Dangit.

How could I let this happen?!  My hands are my part-time livelihood!!

And in the somewhat near future I had planned to employ them in a full-time fashion, churning out such money-makers as more jewelry, and artwork, and whimsical home decor, and cheeky greeting cards with your likeness in a caricature on the front.

I had planned to post a full step by step of what I do to make the felted wool balls I use in jewelry, but in short, and to explain how I rendered my left hand useless in texting while driving: my mode of felting is with needles.  This means after I wind wool roving into a ball I then stab it over and over with the needles for about 3-4 minutes.  No biggie.

The needles have little barbs that catch the wool fibers, tangling them and making the ball more dense until it's the thickness I want.  Like so:

Then I let my puppy jump up on the table I'm working on so he can grab a mouthful and run all over the house dropping little slobber balls every three feet or so, giving me the opportunity to start all over on what was supposed to be a bracelet.

See?  Easy.

But apparently all that repetitive motion is more than my hands can take and I'll have to rely on my revised back up careers:

Politics 

Just call me Governor Lucas.

Acting

With my skills I could probably land a role as dead body number 2 in Law&Order.

Pancake Chef

I like to eat them, so why not perfect them...and then eat them?

Personal trainer

Just because I can't stick with an exercise program doesn't mean I can't yell at other people to do theirs.

Professional waitress

People gotta eat, there's job security here.

Movie critic

Do what you love, right?  I love to watch movies and then say stuff like, "Ooooo that was good," or "nope, not a fan."

So basically, I have options.

Buuuuuut I think before I plan any summer fundraisers I'll check with my doctor about getting some fancy wrist guards.  Yaaaaay accessories...

I work hard for the money

Hey-o!

Here I am.

Alive.  And well.

And not in an abandoned pit somewhere, thrown there by my crazy sister.

Because that's not real life.  It's All My Children, 1991.

Truth is, I've been pret-ty busy.

Time flies when you're felting your fingers to the bone for a two-day craft show in just two weeks.

Two weeks.  TWO.

Can you feel the urgency?  In just two weeks I have to make all the jewelry. 

Nope.  No.  I don't want to talk about it.

But I will show you my studio.  Because I think you're gonna like it.

I love it here.

I love it so much I've begun to fill it up so that it doesn't look like this anymore.



This is the clock I hit my head on every. single. time. I come up here.  Half the year it's set to the wrong time, the other half the year it's not working at all because the batteries died. 



I stole borrowed this lamp from my sister, Katie.  And then it broke.  Now I'm hoping she doesn't read this and remember that she wanted it back when she moved into her own house.

This is the little nook where I read every morning.  My favorite spot in the entire apartment.  It's also where I store my library book sale finds.  Also known as the books I will probably never read but will keep anyway because I only paid 50 cents for crying out loud.

I had high hopes of getting a nice futon for the occasional guest to sleep on, but now those hopes have turned to bigger purchases.

Like a house.



One of two easels.  You would think I was a painter, but you'd be wrong.  I just dabble.

Badly.



And then there's some junk.  Random things that just can't seem to find a home.

Whaddya know, more things without a home.

Months after I took these pictures I found a shelving unit by the side of the road.  Knowing how Corey feels about me picking up strange pieces of furniture I made sure to swipe it while he was gone.  Getting it up two flights of stairs by myself was a challenge and I do still strategically hide the candle wax damage but problem almost solved in the junk department!

Did you notice the humongous skylight?  This is pretty much the best room in the entire building.

My favorite.

But right now it's reminding me of all the work I have to do so this is where I call it quits to go browse pictures of celebrity pets.

:)

One month of wrinkles

We're friends, right?

I mean, if I were to share something intimate and private you could keep that between the two of us and, you know, not spread it to the farthest corners of the world.  Right?

I knew I liked you.

Anyway, there is something I've been wanting to get off my chest.

That's a funny expression.  To get something off one's chest.  Where did it come from?  I always picture a man with with lots of chest hair making grand motions of taking all his invisible cares and throwing them upward and outward.

So dramatic.

Not sure why the hairy chest.  That's weird.

But I digress.

My friend Jill says I digress too much.  There are all these little conversations I have with myself when I'm telling a story, sometimes I keep them to myself and sometimes I think you'll want to know about hairy chests.

Where was I?

Oh yes, secrets.  I wanted to tell you something you can't tell anyone, especially my mother-in-law.  With this I am sure she will disown me and never ever again buy me Vera Bradley purses.  Which could mean the end of my world.

So....here it goes:

Ihaven'tfoldedasinglepieceoflaundryinoveramonth!!

I know, I know, I know.  This is bad.  This is SO bad.  We have a literal mountain of laundry that towers over our bed.  Poor Corey can't find matching socks anymore; I'm not entirely sure he isn't wearing one black and one blue right now.

Or at least one spotted black sock and one striped black sock.  Still so sad.

But in my defense....it's the felting.  People enjoy draping themselves in felted wool beads.  I can't fault them for that, I can't.  And so I must sacrifice that precious laundry folding time to give the people what they want. 

If that makes me a terrible person who shall never own a beautiful Laptop Travel Tote in Portobello Road then so be it!  At least my conscience is clean!!



...just like our unfolded laundry.

Nuts. And other related items.

Can I tell you, I've written this post three different times.

You're looking at attempt number four.

And if you are actually looking at it that means I GOT ONE THAT WORKS!  Finally....

I've been trying to tell you how much I love, love, love fall but every time I get going I'm all "let's talk about every single detail of why marching band is just the absolute funnest thing in the whole entire world!!"

Because that's what goes on now through October.  For four years band was my life and my life was cool.

And then I scratch that post because you're not here for the Life & Times of a High School Trombonist.  So I start over.  But then I'm goofy over Purdue football.

Ok, so what if you almost dated Drew Brees's cousin.

You're impressed.  Right?  Is that what I'm sensing here?

(But srsly, there's nothing better than Big 10 football.  Look it up, I'm pretty sure it's a proven fact.)

But then I'm like, "really, did you really just go there?"

And then I go, "well yeah, it's probably my only claim to fame.  Ever."

So I say, "what about that time you literally ran into Lucy Lui in NYC?"

And I'm like, "ok, but that was different.  I didn't want her signing my umbrella and she was pissy."

And then I go, "fair enough."

People.  Friends.  You, sitting there still trying to decide why you came here in the first place.  I'm getting all carried away with myself because there is just too much to say why I love this season that is only 22 days away!

So I'm pretty much not going to say any of it.

I'm kinda doing you a favor anyway.  My love of apple cider vs. its reign of terror inside my upper GI is probably not going to put this post at the top of your "Faves" list.

What is going to put it at the top of your faves, you ask?

Maybe this:

Well, hello little darlins'.

Fall is when those pesky squirrels start stockpiling acorns.  They take the good nut-parts, stuff 'em in their squirrelly little cheeks, and chuck the leftovers, the acorn hats if you will, at my head, the hood of my car, and dirty pigeons.

Their loss = my gain.

Suckers.

But I exaggerate.  I really do like squirrels.

And for the record I do not condone the throwing of acorn waste, rocks, yorkies, etc. at dirty pigeons.

They can't help it that they were made to have such a high tolerance for dirt and rabies and stuff.

So I take those acorn hats and turn them into cheery little table decorations with felted wool balls as the "acorn."  It's like taking one part of nature and putting it with another part of nature to get a nature hybrid.

How environmentally forward am I?  Pssshaw.

You can leave them alone, scattered on a table.  Or pair them with a mixture of dried fall leaves and berries and stuff.  Or you can decide Stacie has zero interior decorating skills and do something that is "in" right now.

But for now we wait.

We wait for those danged little squirrels to get hungry and then pesky.

We wait for the leaves to change and for the sounds of baritones and tubas in the morning.

...

At least there's still time while we wait to enjoy that last few perks of summer.

With that said, will you please excuse me.  I believe there is something that needs to be grilled.