I've had my name on a waiting list for a year for a booth space in a very popular antiques/collectibles mall.
It's a pretty eclectic place and some spaces are very cool.
Some are very primitive with lots of wood and metal. I love those.
Some are a great hodge-podge of knick-knacks.
Some are just books.
And some are craft items.
I thought this would be my opportunity to get rid of all the stuff I've have "collected"
AND I could also sell some Folk Art things.
Bigger pieces, paintings and things.
So I've been working on getting some of these things ready.
I was feeling anxious because as always, there just never seemed to be enough time to do all that I wanted to do.
August 1st, yesterday, was the move in date.
The guy who had the booth before me asked me to make an offer on the pegboard and shelves he had installed.
To be honest it looked like he had done a shabby job of it so I said $20.00.
He came back with a request for $50.00 and I declined.
I went in and walked around and noticed that all the booth spaces backed up to mine had walls
and that formed a framed in space for my booth.
I figured I could staple gun some chicken wire up until I figured out something grander.
So the guy called again and asked for another bid and I said $20.00 again,
to which I never got another reply except to find that he had taken everything down.
Fine by me.
I forgot to take appropriate before and after photos but here's an example
of an old white cabinet -
and how it looks out at the mall.
I barely skimmed the surface here at home of all my stuff but
because I have to number my tags, I know that I have 52 items in my booth.
My sister and Lily helped me carry in my stuff and do the tags.
Here's a photo of what I have out there so far.
You can see the big gap up on the back wall.
I need to get several large paintings out there.
I repainted several pieces but I also have several that I'm going to leave "as is",
rust and all.
One thing I did was wrap a chair in fabric and mod podged with Hard Coat.
If feels a bit rough but it's durable and can be wiped down with a damp rag because of the protective coating.
My plan is to empty my house of EVERYTHING that I don't absolutely
need or love.
What can't go to the booth, gets donated or trashed.
From now on it's just the bare minimum.
So that's what I've been doing.
That and still working a lot.
I also had someone bring a sign I made about 10 years ago into the clinic and ask if I could
"touch it up".
It's completely faded from the sun so basically I'm just repainting the damn thing.
Then the other day she called me to ask if I'd paint a sign for her daughters new house
with the words of "welcome to my little home" and have her basset hound painted on it.
So, I need to work on that and I have some other projects for people that I still haven't finished.
So that was the good news.
The bad news is that I've been in the worst funk.
I shouldn't be, but I am.
I need to get my books on positive thinking out and start reading again.
I'm just questioning everything.
I found some old photos as I was going through boxes.
One was from at least 13 years ago when I had a booth at a craft show selling painted furniture and folk art cats and dogs stuffed animals and jewelry.
Hmm, Deja vu
I stared at it for the longest time.
I had worked so hard to get ready for that show and then another big one
and many people stopped and gave me great compliments on it all
and I didn't even break even.
I was financially in the hole, to say nothing of my time.
Now that I think of it, that's where this woman bought my sign!
Then two weeks ago a woman had expressed interest in my paintings at the clinic and asked if I could bring in more.
So I worked like a crazy person, (while working on my booth stuff)
and brought in 12 TWELVE paintings for her to view.
She looked at each one and commented on them and ran her finger over a few.
She liked the layers.
She asked if I painted as a hobby, for something to do?
To be honest, I felt so awkward, with her staring and judging my Art.
and I felt kinda offended about her question although I'm sure she meant nothing by it.
So I politely smiled and said "No, I paint them to make some money so I can buy dog food".
To which she laughed.
But honestly, that's the truth.
Ultimately she bought a painting that she had originally seen at the clinic
and didn't buy any of the 12 that I had brought in.
I felt very frustrated....
This Saturday was finally August 1st, my move in date for my booth!
My sister and Lily were coming over at 10:00 to help me moved things.
I had gotten up early and in the quietness of the morning I went out to my van
and unloaded some things out of it and tidied it up.
There was no traffic yet and I turned and something caught my eye across the street.
I walked down to the end of the drive and looked again.
I walked back to my porch and sat on the steps and pressed my fingertips into my cheekbones.
I told myself not to cry.
Finally I got myself together and walked down the sidewalk past my neighbors house
to a spot where I could clearly see and there he was.
The little fawn, laying along side the road.
Obviously hit by a car,
his eyes open and his tongue out.
I turned and hurried back to my house and rushed into the safety of my home
and sat in my chair and cried.
Even now, as I type this, tears are flowing.
Maybe it's stupid, things like this happen but....
My sister arrived and I pointed out to the little deer.
Cars passed and then one stopped.
It looked to be a family and the man got out and walked to the fawn
and gently picked him up and laid him in the grass.
Both me and my sister watched with solemn faces and she said
"That was so nice".
Shortly afterwards a police car came
and later he was gone.
Lily arrived and then we went out and unloaded my things and setup my space.
Here are a few more photos.
I still have a lot of work to do to it but you get the idea.
Afterwards we met with Lily's boyfriend and we had a late lunch
and then we all went to our different homes.
My sisters husband was out of town for business and she was working on her garden.
Her old cat that she had found at an estate sale 6 years ago has been showing signs that the end might be coming.
She was 13 when my sister found her at the sale and my sister asked the man what was he going to do with the cat.
"My cat?" he said. "Hmm, I'm not really sure yet".
He was moving to California and selling everything and he wasn't sure what to do with his old cat.
Now my sister is NOT like me.
But I had been at the same estate sale that day and she just kept looking at that cat laying on the sofa up in the attic room.
We had both bought things and I left before her and called her later to see what she had finally bought in total.
So she rambled off the list of things and ended it with "and a cat".
Her husband was shocked and started to grumble about all the pets they already had and she just ignored him.
So, this cat would walk around the house, inside and out and if you pulled your car into their driveway, she would run up and climb up your car.
Sometimes she would drop through my sister's car sunroof and my sister would find her sleeping in the back.
The old cat had even inadvertently gone on a few car rides to the grocery store with her!
My sister lives in a wooded quiet neighborhood and has a very large yard.
Her Huskies lay about the yard and the family's big black cat lounges with them and this skinny old thing wobbled around following my sister everywhere and even would wobble into her bedroom every night and lay above her and her husband's heads between the pillows.
They had little routines, my sister and her estate sale cat.
So last night my sister text me that her cat was "going".
She text that she was in a comatose state but breathing.
I asked her if she needed me to come over and she said "No".
So I drove over there and found my sister in the laundry room sitting on the floor and her cat on top of a basket of clothes.
We talked for a bit and I told her what a great life she had given this little cat and she said that she knew that and she was fine.
She kept talking about her, how she could tell she was already gone.
That her eyes were vacant and she wasn't in there anymore but her body wasn't letting go.
She could feel a faint heartbeat.
We sat there, keeping a vigil until finally her paw that was against the side of the basket dropped ever so slight down.
My sister felt her chest and said "She's gone."
I asked her what she planned to do and she said she was going to bury her under the tree in the fairy garden where she would always lay as she watched my sister hang the laundry.
I asked her if she wanted me to stay and she said "No."
Later she text me and told me it was done.
She said she had finally started to cry as she did the burial and she couldn't stop crying for an hour.
I felt so bad for her. I know exactly how she is feeling.
I tried to think of good things after that and I started to make a list of things to do this Sunday.
I focused on the fact that this was my first weekend off in a long time and I could sleep in a little and then get up fresh and start working on projects.
Then I got a text from the newest girl who was scheduled for Sunday morning that she was sick.
She thought it might be better to let me know that evening rather than 6 AM Sunday morning.
Which I did appreciate.
So I worked this morning.
Got up early and worked for 5 hours and took care of a full house at the clinic.
I had wanted to go to the Farmers Market that everyone talks about, so afterwards I stopped
and walked past a few booths but it was so hot out and I felt dizzy and needed some lunch
so I left and came home.
And now I'm in a funk.
I'm trying to get my head straight.
I'm trying to focus.
And all I can think about is how -
Life happens when you are busy making plans.
and how I don't want to jump out of the frying pan into the fire.
I don't know.
Truly sorry for such a dismal post.
and I have my pets to worry about too.
So nothing drastic can be done.
I can't quit and move to someplace lovely.
Some place clean and pretty and fun.
And where is that place anyway?
Oh and I could save this for another post but I'm not really sure when I will be posting again so ...
This happened too-
I will condense it as much as possible.
New girl, the one that is like a mini me, has told me about several dogs that she knows of that need homes.
She's known of a French Poodle (a favorite of mine)
a Maltese (love those too) but after looking at their photos I know they will find homes.
Cute, small and youngish.
She works as a groomer full-time and has volunteered at the no-kill shelter.
So, a few weeks back she gets a call from a friend at the no-kill.
They just had to turn away a Yorkie.
Some girl had the dog in her car with 2 cats and they had to be gone by Sunday.
(This happened on a Thursday.)
Oddly enough the cats weren't an issue I guess but the dog was...13 going on 14.
Too old for a no-kill apparently because no one would want to adopt an elderly dog
and they would be stuck with caring for an old dog who knows how long.
The other shelter would take him but they would put him down right away because of his age.
So the friend is calling the new girl in a panic and she calls me.
I text every single person I could think of and got the same response from them all.
So the new girls sends me photos.
He's a matted mess and she said she could groom him up real nice if I could find someone.
She says he's very sweet and she would take him but she's already over her city limit for pets.
(she lives in another city, not in my town where there is no limit as long as they are vaccinated and etc.)
So her and I keep sharing his photo to everyone.
I finally tell her to go ahead and groom him and we have an empty kennel in boarding and we can keep searching for a home.
She brings him in the next day, clipped short and he's a butterball.
I called everyone, including last resort people.
I Google how long Yorkie's usually live and it's 12 - 15 years.
Finally I lose the last of my marbles and say -
"I guess I can take him for his final years and/or until we find him a home."
I leave him at the clinic though because I don't want to rush him home.
I have things to do and hopefully I won't bond with him and a home will pop up.
The new girl gets a vaccination record from the old owner.
Apparently his owner had him his whole life but is..moving or something vague and has to get rid of him, NOW.
I have him in boarding and when I change out his bedding I use white sheets this time.
Overnight he has peed on it and there's pink urine.
I flip him over and bright red blood is coming out of his penis.
I go get the vet tech that I consider a friend and show her.
She exclaims! and asks "Whose dog is this?!"
thinking he's a boarding pet.
At which point I look at her and tell her "Mine I guess. I've had him since, yesterday."
She runs him up to Doc and he asks who is the owner?
and tells her that he can give him an injection and for her to call the owners and...
She stops him and tells him that he's mine.
He tells her to do a radio-graph.
It shows that he has a huge bladder stone and because of his age it's too risky to try to do surgery.
He tells her which antibiotics to fill and the old Yorkie needs to be on it for a month.
And special (expensive) food that MIGHT help dissolve it.
So I keep him at work for another week and take care of him.
Finally I take him home.
My sister stops by on my birthday and the dogs are outside except for him
(and Poppy and Rosie who are sleeping)
She looks at him for a moment and I wait for the snarky comment
and she says nothing.
I get up from the chair to go to the kitchen and my sister calls over to me -
"He's up! he's looking for you!"
So I walk back in and look at him and he looks at me and lays back down and puts his face on his front feet.
My sister looks at me and I wait for it...
"Yeah, you need him"
I look at her to see if she's being sarcastic but she's not.
"He's old and he needs to be with you'"
And that is the last of my news.
Now I think I will go lay down and stare at the ceiling.
Not sure when I will get back up and blog again.