Oh where, oh where, has the "Little" gal gone?

My sexy witch with her orange feather boa.  She's winking at you, flirting with big hooked eyes winking at the men coming up the street.  I sculpted her lips into botox balloons.   Her hair came from the dollar store, a novelty item of chest hair, black and tightly curled.  On her head okay, on a man's chest, creepy!   

I suppose my blogging absence has been noted.    I’ve been feeling guilty and need to explain how day after day I ran out of time with hubby being home as we tried to squeeze in a bit of a life together after having 3 ½ months of separation.  We’ve been out for appointments, sometimes back to back two to three daily and then the festival preparations took over, chewing up the rest of my day and half of my nights.  Something had to be displaced to make room for the long lists of things that had to be done so the blog got the elbow.   Truthfully, at the end of the day, which sometimes was the wee hours of the tomorrow, there wasn’t much cognitive thinking left.    So much for relaxing and having a bit of fun with hubby because with all we had to accomplish in a little over two weeks, I would say there was none to speak of.   I suppose I shouldn’t complain too bitterly….there isn’t any roses to smell this time of year anyway, cause there all dead!    Such is my life!

The annual Scarecrow Festival weekend was fabulously wild but severely exhausting.  After working nights to prepare so the shop was restocked from the summer trade, by the time Friday rolled around I wasn’t up to standing behind the counter, but I did, and no one suspected the lack of sleep and aching legs; my smile a cover for the tiredness within.  The adrenalin kept me vertical...truly, what a blast!   So many people oohing and aahing over the shop, asking questions about our beautiful craft, it was head swelling, which I might add, balanced out the swollen ankles and feet.    

At one point I commented to Shane that it would be nice to be organized for these festivals, not be cutting kits on the day of or other jobs to many to mention.  It would be lovely to sit and hook, possibly outside in front of the shop, set up on the small patch of grass to show the curious how it’s done.  He scoffed because he knows me.   Who am I kidding…. I’ll never be organized or ahead of the game no matter how hard I try.  I’m a last minute kind of gal who’ll be late for my own funeral, my mother’s opinion after years of dealing with me.      

Saturday was also a blur.  People were crawling all over the town like ants in a mound, going in and out of the shops as if marching in a band.   We were making up patterns on the fly that weren’t on the racks and weaving in and out of the perpetual crowd, assisting and answering questions.  At times the shop was over crowded, people big and small were packed in like multiple stings of pearls from one end of the shop to the other.   Like Brody’s comment to Quint after observing the size of the shark in Jaws I kept thinking “we’re gonna need a bigger shop!” The enthusiasm was palpable, I wish I had a dollar for every time I heard  “I’ve always wanted to do this, do you have classes?  I’ve heard so much about this, my mother hooks!  Your shop is so beautiful, the rugs are amazing!   All sweet talk in a shop keep’s ear.   I overheard hubby introduce himself as Mr. Christine a few times, a running joke between us.  He’s by biggest fan and always there to lend a hand. 

Sunday was a bust for the shop and gladly so.  I’d planned to open at noon but the week had taken its toll and my eyes refused to open, sleeping in until late in the morning and by the time breakfast and a shower were out of the way, it was close to 1:00 pm.  We rushed down to open but only a handful of people moseyed in as the rain pounded down like a hammer on an anvil, forming torrents that surged down the street, sweeping away the dead leaves on the way to the drains.  Those without umbrellas ran to their cars to head homeward, the festival damping down quickly.   When an hour passed without a customer, we closed at 3:00 and went out for a late lunch at the Biscuit Eater.  It was fun to sit and relax for a change and the quiche and salad hit the spot.      

Tomorrow I have to pull the finger out and get to work designing the Pattern of the Month for October, already a week late in case you haven’t noticed!  I also have to judge the winner for July’s submission.  How time sneaks up and leaves you in its wake.   

So I’ve been remiss in the blogging department and feeling guilty.  I like my rants and Dear Diary experiences.  It’s the highlight of my day sharing my thoughts and chatting about rug hooking. So, if I haven’t lost you, I’m back in the writing saddle and ready to gallop into the fall with all the colour and inspiration it offers, although I groaned coming to work this morning when I spied a poster advertising the Father Christmas Festival.  It was stuck in a bale of hay next to a scarecrow, how weird is that?   It seems early, especially since the scarecrows are still up and Halloween hasn’t been put to bed, but I’ll have a few months to rest up before the next panic, this one demanding red and green charm around the shop, kits and bundles to celebrate the season.   Maybe I should start now!