Just a verbose note, as I've received a disturbing e-mail from my Mother, in her staccato style of think-typing (I know she's too big to be a gerbil, but I get the feeling there's one in her head somewhere. And to think I've always blamed the other half of my DNA for my lack of focus.) My mom has a secret cache of people; an odd, strange assortment of folks who do, or have done, some pretty wild/amazing/bizzare things from time to time. They run the gamut from... well, let's just say, they are a colorful bunch. And she's put them into the que for "the list".
This brings me to the clarification about "the list". The List is private. You will not be sold to Other Lists, because the list will belong solely to Cementine's Dry Goods. The List's only purpose is to alert you, the crafty maven/ho/addict to sales, limited-run kits, end-of-bolt/bag sales, etc. There will be e-newsletters sent out, with absolutely no harm coming to any of you. Don't want to see it? Click. It disappears just like that. It's just that in buying the service, which is basically access to templates and the like, it makes sense to actually have a collection of people to whom I can send the newsletter to. The List is for my eyes only, and perhaps Ann's as well, as she's the webmistress. She's still basking in her bathing suit success, so I don't think she's a threat to you or your friendlies e-mail addys, either. Are we good, now? Great. Moving on...
I spent yesterday cutting fabric for the fiber-festival bundles and grew quite the nasty lower backache as a result. It's time to go back to scary neck-cracker guy and have another go. The thought makes me want to cry, but this bad back stuff has been brewing ever since the Road Trip from Hades. I know I'll feel better after the adjustment, but I'm still miserable about it. (I'll call him tomorrow.) It's the last day of my "work week" and I have Plans for Monday, and then Tuesday is knit-night... lather, rinse, repeat.
Type at y'all latah. C