inaminit

Well, hell. Look who's turned into Chatty Cathy all of a sudden. Must be my impending freedom making me all loosey goosey with the typing. Today was looking like a free day, what with Herr Becher on 'vacay' and all, but there's the 'Fun and Done' quilt class tonight at the shop, so someone has to be there to lock up. This leaves me with the bulk of my day to play around. I shopped my stash in the bedroom closet (what? you don't have random 66gallon tubs of fabric stashed all over your haus? get with the program... geez!) and found some Michael Miller "sundaes" fabric and was suddenly inspired to throw a few 'Stash&Dash' bags together. Oddly enough, there were coordinating zippers in that stash bucket as well. I did grab another half dozen zippers at JoAnn's last night before belly dance class, but naturally they've decided to be the wrong color for my current ice cream fabric obsession. See how calm I am? One might suspect I'm used to being thwarted by my own inner stitcher...

So, bright and early, I was up with the coffeepot, making my sewing-day plans, and I thought to check the traps. No morning mouse. Two days in a row with the no-mouses. Excuse me a minute...

Ok. I'm done with my happy dance, though the darkness inside me is snickering that the mice are just laying low till Herr Becher's vacation days are over, so that he'll be gone and I'll be back on body-dump duty. Ugh. I hate that little inner voice. Just once it'd be nice if she was wrong.

It's time, once again, to ready the store's newsletter. Camp Wanamaikasaukee kicks off 'officially' this Saturday, so I must alert the masses. I'm thinking sock camp would be a fun retreat to do every summer or fall, possibly in an exotic location. Of course, around here that leaves one with scant few possibilities: Bloomington, Nashville (IN, not TN), or further south to French Lick. Hmmm... gambling and spa treatments, all under the guise of 'sock camp'...

yes. I, too, see the beauty of this plan. Alrighty, then. Something to plan for, because I'm feeling way, waaayyy more creative as the shackles of shop-ownership prepare to come off. Thank God, 'cuz for a year there, I thought I'd lost my damn mind!

I'm slowly getting caught up on my blog reading. My hate/hate relationship with all things electronic has made me slow in getting to know our new computer, but I'm finding that since I'm the first one up in the morning, it's allowing me unfettered access. Usually there's five chirruns crowding me out, or Herr Becher's IMAO addiction to work around. Just know I'm looking, trying your yummy recipes in spite of the devil diet and couch to 5K plan, I'm drooling over your latest project, and I'm cringing at your latest round of sick puppy vet bills. Ugh. Keep spilling, 'cuz I'm so glad to be back...

a post-script for the bereft (this means you, sarah and laurel):

two words... fabric. co-op.

ponder that for awhile. like i said yesterday, one door closes, another one opens...

to-do lists

Hello, gentle reader. Thanks for stopping by. Since my last post, I've been on one grand adventure after another, and though, yes, I was that girl Saturday night, the one who got up and drunkenly sang with the band at Miss Karen's party, I reformed into the best DD ever for Zoe's 'inappropriate t-shirt' party last night. I even mostly ignored the Patron (ok. I had a few tequilas... and beers... and some jello that wasn't, and her drunken cherries and watermelon were yummy, too) but I avoided the beer pong tourney out in the garage. Herr Becher didn't fare so well. Speak above a whisper today and he winces and turns green. Oh, the amateur. I brought him some donuts and coffee. A full recovery is underway.

A good many of you have been asking me... daily, and without ceasing, what I intend to do with myself once I close Clementine's. The general consensus seems to be that without regular contact with the general public my brain will shrivel and I'll have to be fitted with one of those fashionably tight white jackets with the buckles in the back. So, I looked around Becher Haus and came to a few conclusions about what that gin-soaked British witch Clementine has been keeping me from, besides regular and emotionally cleansing blogging (these are in no particular order):

-organized closets

-freshly ironed linen kitchen towels

-mopped and polished floors

-books on actual bookshelves, not stacked in piles all over the haus

-having a cleared-for-use island in the kitchen

-using my fountain pen collection to write actual letters to actual humans on actual paper

-knitting naughty lingerie... a fetching cashmere garter belt, to put a name on it

-finishing up five... or possibly twelve (excavation unearths more every day) quilt tops

-playing with silk and vintage velvet-it was going to be Christmas ornaments, once upon a time

-learning Japanese so I'll know what my kids are saying about me behind my back

-spending time with said children, and teaching my 15yr old to drive a stick (daddy's Jeep, NOT my car!)

-hanging out with my knittahs in coffee houses, and getting back to knit group

-publishing my first quilt book, unless it kills me. this is a real hazard... there's no alcohol involved... yet

-jiu jitsu lessons with the family

-more belly dancing

-parties on the front lawn

-finally getting the dayum dawg to come when she's summoned

-getting the cat to stop sleeping on the dining room table and drinking out of the bidet

-setting up patrols around the perimeter of the bed to keep dust buffaloes out from underneath

-finally getting enough sleep because I won't have the financial burden of the shop slowly eating away at my guts

See? I won't die of boredom. With as slow as things have been lately, especially these past few months, it's not like I'm leaving a huge hole in the fabric of society. A brick and mortar store is far more maintenance than a simple online shop, but the idea of making Clementine's a pack-and-ship shop makes me gag a little, so, no. Just no. You mean well, but I have precious few good years left in me. I sure as shit ain't spending them stuffing boxes and taping them shut. I was in love with my little store. It felt good to walk in and soak up all the happy, but sometime last year it became a chore. I'll miss my fabulous customers, but I'll also have one helluva stash to play in here at home. One door closes, another one opens, blah, blah, blah...

you get the picture.

stick a fork in it...

it's done.

Clementine is for sale. As both a wanton, and a lush, she finds herself in need of a new keeper. Just want the fabric? The yarn? It can be arranged, and very cheaply, since her current mistress finds herself in the throes of panic almost daily due to the demands of homeschooling five children, an omnipresent laundry pile, unfinished projects, and the morning mouse (a short but disgusting tale of home owner woe... suffice it to say, there's body disposal to be done every damn day).

If you are interested, please feel free to call the shop Wed-Sat, 11 to 5. The 'Camilla-walks-away-from-it-all' price is very low, unlike her blood pressure. It seems I'm not at all cut out for the demands of marketing... I just like to make stuff. That's where my happy is, so there I will return. The rest of it, the grueling part, is over for me. I have a mental stop date of July 1st, unless things pick up remarkably quick... but I'm still out. It'd just be nice to have our girl Clemmie running some decent numbers for her new sugarmomma.