Yoga Dogs and Tear Gas

There’s nothing like starting out one’s day with a little exercise. And because this thought was too long to form into a cleverly worded facebook status, I’m writing about it here, although it is in no way relevant to my glass business or anything, really.

It was just funny.

My dog, Guinness, is a funny little dude, incredibly intelligent, and a total clown.

In short, it seems like his total purpose in life is to bring joy and laughter to people. Since I’m the human he’s around most often, let’s just say I laugh a lot with him around. He has quirks too, that make him all the funnier. For example, if we have a laser pointer in the house, and he sees where we put it down, he will sit at the base of the bookshelf-table-dresser and look up longingly at the location he last saw us with the pointer. And then look at the floor by his toes. And then look at whoever was holding said pointer. And then repeat the entire cycle until we either a) ignore him for a good long time or b) pick up said pointer and honor his request.

Another quirky factoid about my dog: he loves my yoga mat. Whenever I pull it out for my morning yoga, he’s right there with some toy clutched in his mouth, writhing on his back in an ecstatic expression of doggie happiness.

The only hitch in the giddy-up is that my buddy Josh was at the studio yesterday, and so Guinness got a treat or two more than usual. And while I was in Down Dog (photo below) doing a few slow and meditative breaths, he wiggled up next to me, rolled over, and planted himself under my tummy so I had the south bound end of a north bound dog eyeballing me.

And then he farted.

I outweigh him by 150 lbs or so, and I really didn’t want to land on him. You can probably picture the rest of the story… me, trying to a) get out of the ick zone b) not land on my small dog while doing it and c) laughing so hard I nearly wet myself while trying not to inhale.

I’ll be checking my yoga mat for holes directly, and letting the military know that there’s a new version of tear gas (or would that be terrier gas?) available.

Going Back to My Roots

I started my first business around the age of ten I think. It might have been later than that, but I remember walking to the local Ben Franklin Arts store for years to buy supplies because I was too young to drive.

I didn’t do very well with it, because, well, at the time, $8 on a piece of jewelry sounded like quite a lot of money to me, it wasn’t proportional to how my products looked. In other words, my perceived value didn’t match my price tag. I was making some cool stuff even back then, and the other reason that I think it didn’t sell well is that very few people expect to see a 14 year old manning (or womanning in my case) a booth at an art show, and then taking credit for the creation of all of the pretty items in said booth.

Collaborative piece - my glass with polymer clay work by Tiffanie of Karma's Gift.

Looking back now (cause I still have a big box of crap that didn’t sell and gods only know why I move it from place to place…) I can see the beginnings of good ideas, and here and there, there are some fabulously cool pieces. But my style wasn’t organized in any way. I leapt in this direction, then that direction, running hither and thither and making anything that I had a creative thought in my little (and sometimes ADHD) head about. So my portfolio (if I can really even call it that) of work from my first jewelry business is a mish mosh of random-ness that puts the chaos theory to shame.

Collaborative piece featuring my glass and polymer clay work by Tiffanie of Karma's Gift.

One of the main components in my work from that period though, is polymer clay. I made barrettes covered in roses, and shaded work that fooled the eye. I made wonky looking face canes, and some kind of nice flower canes, and so on and so forth. I guess I was putting my time in so that when I cycled back around to it, I had already worked out a lot of the kinks. Kind of like this quote:

I have a polymer clay artist I collaborate with, and trust me, if she had a web presence, there would be a link here… (All of the photos of pieces thus far have been our collaborative stuff, fyi.) Since her work isn’t online, I’ll just have to gas about her on my blog. Anyway, her stuff rocks, which makes our stuff rock, and I’ve been in complete and total awe of her work since I met her. But she is a full time Rennie, and her studio isn’t always with her… in fact, she won’t be getting back to her studio for another two months.

I think the noise I heard at the end of my phone call with her was opportunity knocking. Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait to get some of her/our stuff in stock again. It sells like crazy, and for good reason!

But I need stock now. And while I love her work, my own style differs slightly, which is good because I don’t want to be too similar to someone else’s work stylistically.

So I rummaged around for my collection of polymer clay stuff (tools, clay and the various detritus one collects anytime one picks up a new skill or hobby, and, well, if there’s one area of stuff that I’m hardcore about keeping and not tossing, it’s “art stuff”.

And then I got playing. Here’s one of the preliminary pieces from this week… (Yes, I know the photos is crappy. I took it with my phone.) Feedback?

Betty Boop, Bouncing Balls and Bad Math

Dorothy had it right. There’s no place like home. I’ve been back in Ohio for about a week now, and I happened to get home right around the start of a late spring cold snap. I am so enjoying being cold. And wearing my favorite sweatshirt again. And drinking hot drinks to warm up a bit. And so on. I’m also relishing being back to my studio (despite the fact that nothing got done while I was away. That’s one of the downfalls of self-employment, although I was sincerely hoping that I had a house elf or two lurking that would “make things happen” while I was away from my glass…)

Where's the House Elf?

Part of the reason I’m so glad to be back though, is that Florida was a journey of epic proportions, and I’m not just talking about the mileage. Several people have expressed wonderment and disbelief at such an undertaking (although heading to Florida with a small dog and a trailer in tow seems kind of par for the course in this artist’s life I’ve chosen.) No, Florida had some “life lessons” to teach me. Sometimes life approaches you like a little old grandmotherly type who dispenses bus-stop wisdom while waiting for her Greyhound to arrive. And sometimes life’s lessons come at you with all the timidity of a broken bottle across the jugular in a bar brawl. Florida was definitely more of a “bar brawl” kind of journey. But I learned a lot about life, I learned a lot about me, and I learned a lot about what sort of person I want to be. To totally paraphrase my friend Elliot (mostly because I can’t remember sitting here how she puts it, exactly,) “No learning is ever wasted”… or something like that. (Sorry, Ellie, if I butchered it.) My job = my art and sometimes = my life, but it doesn’t have to be the sum total of it. So, like the rubber ball I referenced a few posts back, I think it’s time to drop a few things around here that can be dropped.

Like my blog.

I realized is that I’ve been blogging pretty regularly on the advice of someone who is a much better salesperson than I. (Hey, I just make the glass, and while I am getting better at marketing my own items, it’s never been something that I rock at.)

It occurred to me in Florida that one of the nice things about being there was that I didn’t have to blog, since I had pretty much let me loyal 15 readers or so (hey, I said I learned a lot about myself. I didn’t say I’d lay off the self-deprecating humor) know that my blog would be bare during my Florida trip. Don’t get me wrong, I like blogging, but in more of a “if the mood fits” kind of a way, and I had strayed from that because I wanted to try blogging long enough and regularly enough to see if the numbers contributed to my overall sales and well being of my business.

And, well, they don’t.

I had the time in Florida to do the math, and even with my quirky math, the numbers didn’t lie. My blog shows up nowhere in my stats. I repeat, nowhere. And I had more hits in the past three months on my etsy store than any other months I could find. I realize that it’s due mostly to being featured in several knitting podcasts. (Thanks again to HighFiberDiet, 2KnitLitChicks, and WexfordKnits) In fact, I have had so much business in stitch markers recently that I am having trouble keeping up, drives to Florida and back notwithstanding.

So my blog is one of the balls I’m going to let bounce on the pavement for awhile. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not giving this up entirely… I just plan to go back to blogging irregularly and more in the fashion of “when the mood strikes”.

Oh, and the use of Betty Boop in the title? Well, it made for a nice alliteration. And since stitch markers seem to be what the universe is handing me lately, I said yes when got invited to merchant at the local World Wide Knit in Public Day event. I’ve done shows for (eegads!) 7-8 years now, and I got out of art shows in general because my setup is a pain in the patootie. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing, like spending 2.5 hours setting up (or more) and 2.5 hours breaking down (or more) for a weekend long event. And that’s if it doesn’t rain. So I pitched the idea of being a portable merchant, selling stitch markers and knitting accessories from a tray that I’ll wear, much like the cigarette girls in old-fashioned bars. Of course my only reference for such an idea comes straight from the movie “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”, where Betty Boop has a cameo.

I think I’ll forgo the garter and short skirt, though. Know your audience, and all that.

So yeah, I think I covered it all… Betty Boop, Bouncing Balls and Bad Math. I’ll catch up with you the next time the blog ball bounces my way.

Truth is Stranger than Fiction

And really, they don’t make folks much stranger than us Rennies.

A funny thing happened on the way to the Faire. (Isn’t that a play??) Okay, all joking aside, every job has funny stories. I think maybe we Ren folk seem to get more than our “Faire” share because we a) are weirdos who live on the fringe of society ourselves for the most part b) interact with many folks who are also a bit on the fringe, and therefore, have unusual and varied interests, and c) we run into a LOT more people in an average year than most folks. (I recently did some SWAG math – scientific wild assed guessing – whereupon I added the lowest average gate counts for each faire that I do in a year, and took 25% or that number, based on the assumption that only 25% of the folks at the faire will make it my shop to look around, and then multiplied that number by 90%, assuming that 10% of the folks I meet are return customers, and therefore, not really new acquaintances. If my math is even mostly right, I meet over 25,000 people at faires annually.

So I’ve heard lots of stories from interacting with lots of folks, and living lots of places, albeit temporarily.

Here’s two of my favorite “Tales from the Ren Road.” (Both are written in the first person for readability.)

One of the goals of being on the Ren Faire circuit is to have a snarky or funny reply to anything a patron can throw at you. It’s part of the charm of the Faire – we’re allowed to (within reason) poke fun at patrons and give a little of what-for. A prime example is the pickle seller, who is typically a guy, and who typically delivers lines like, ”Hey Mister… want to slip your girl a pickle in public?” or my personal favorite, “Bigger than your man and really cheap!” Yes, it’s naughty, but seriously, have you EVER read Chaucer? Pretty earthy stuff, really.

The Tale of Two Pickles
There were a couple of very loud homophobic frat boy types who were generally acting like asses, and working their way down through my section of the show. The pickle guy (see the references above) heard them coming, heard them calling each other “faggot” and played it straight for a few minutes while they approached. One of the guys who was both the biggest and loudest of the bunch decided to buy a pickle, and, after taking the guy’s money, and handing him his pickle, the pickle seller let loose. He looks at the guy, and says in his biggest, most booming voice, “Dude, I picked out the biggest, saltiest pickle I could for you, and I think it’s admirable that you’re eating such a huge pickle in public.” And when they start to look confusedly at each other, he asks another of the group if they’d like to slip any of their homies a pickle in public. By this time enough interest from passers-by had been stirred that the frat boys just kind of shoved their hands into their pockets and walked away. It was clear that one or two of them wanted to say or do something, but it was also clear that they recognized that any response on their part would be verbally parried by the pickle seller.

A Witch’s Credentials
So one day at Faire, this guy comes up to me while I’m eating an apple. He’s a real boorish type with probably half a beer too much in him (cause his volume control is gone), and he yells at me, “Didja buy that apple from a witch?” I follow Wicca (and would be considered a witch by a lot of people)… I mean, had the guy bothered to look in my booth, it’s pretty clear that many of my items are Pagan friendly. Luck was on my side, as I don’t always think quickly on my feet, and I bellowed back to him, “Sir, I was shopping for produce, not asking for credentials.”

The Grass Feels Greener with Cookie Cutter Art

Dear Florida,

You are not greatly endearing yourself to me. (If you’re not a regular reader of my blog, I’m not gonna use up the ink space to fill you in. Go back a few articles and start there, and all will be explained.)

Oh, there are good points (mostly in the form of people) down here, and in fact, my existence down here has been very much helped by various folks. A thank you and shout-out goes to Ms. R for the booth help, Ms. F for the sewing tips, Ms. E for dog-watching, Bailey’s and other stuff that would take too long to mention, Mr. N for a fantastic and much needed night out and key lime pie, Mr. D for actually opening the door when I showed up unexpectedly, Mr. P for the weekend doses of cookie therapy, Mr. C and Ms. D for the wi-fi access, and various family members who are calling more than usual to make sure I stay grounded.

Any time I add a new show it’s always a crapshoot, because I’ll have never done this show before, so I don’t have records of what sells the best for me yet, and since I’m new, I can’t depend on my regular customers (because I haven’t made people there into regular customers yet,) and so on and so forth.

You can’t ever gauge how you’re going to do at a show (regardless of whether a show is new to you or not), as election cycles, weather, whomever’s winning the SuperBowl-WorldSeries-sporting thing in the city/state/whatever nearest your show, etc. etc, – all change annually, and can positively or adversely affect gate counts. (Gate counts are a fancy way of saying “attendance”.)

But I didn’t expect to find myself down here on what is apparently the worst year that people can remember for this Faire on record. It happens. Florida’s economy is suffering right now, and I’m sure that has a lot to do with it. We’re in a presidential election year, and that in of itself is usually good for a 12-20% drop in sales.

The biggest thing though (and please, if you see a dent in my forehead the next time you see me, don’t comment. It’s from banging my head against the front post of my shop…) is that I should have saved myself the bloody trouble of making beautiful one-of-a-kind things and just made cookie cutter art. Seventy lanterns all in the same shape and 4 choices of color. Or maybe I should have gone the route of Henry Ford when he announced that, “You can have the model T in any color you want so long as you choose black.”

‘Cause I swear, if I have to say, “This piece is unique. Therefore, I have one of them. In blue.” Or worse, when the customer takes a look at what I have, I explain the definition of unique, they say they have to think about it, I sell it while they’re off thinking, and they come back to buy it and get pissed off at me.

Jeez, lady, go vent your spleen on someone else. Florida’s been kicking my ass enough already.

Besides, I’ve got cookie cutter art to make.

The Learning Curve

A friend of mine once joked that he should need a passport to visit Ohio. (He lives in Florida.) At the time I sort of rolled my eyes at him and just laughed.

But it’s true. I’ve been here about a week now, and I’m feeling out of sorts and cultural shock on the scale of (almost but not quite) when I went to London. As in England.

For example, Florida drivers (on the whole) are very aggressive compared to drivers in other places I’ve lived. The closest I can compare them to is Massachusetts drivers, and (please don’t take this the wrong way, Floridians who read my blog), but there’s a reason MA drivers are referred to as “Mass-holes”. I got cut off in traffic more times hauling my very heavy trailer in the state of Florida than the whole rest of the trip combined. (That would include Ohio, West Virginia, Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia in case you were curious. And assuming my memory is accurate.)

I LOVE my GPS in my phone. I think if I didn’t have it I really would go nuts driving around in the very heavy, very aggressive traffic trying to find a grocery store, oil change place, gas station, etc.

The wildlife has taken some getting used to. Apparently it’s unwise to cut through a deadfall of trees (because of the spiders, snakes, ticks and other Florida wildlife.) Which struck me as strange ’cause I used to go tromping around in the woods in other states I’ve lived (Ohio, Pennsylvania, New York, and New Hampshire) all the time. Perhaps the weirdest part is the lizards. They’re everywhere. And they have a startle factor like mice. So although they’re not scary, per se, they do have a knack for making your heart skip a beat when they scuttle out of your line of sight or across the porch.

Here’s the most embarrassing one so far. There is an orange tree in the backyard of the house where I’m staying. I’m pretty good about knowing edible foods in the “wild” so to speak, and my philosophy is when the thing hanging on the tree is the same size, color, shape, and approximate smell of an orange, and the tree it’s hanging on looks like the groves of things you’ve been passing by for miles at a time, well, it must be an orange.

Except that it isn’t. It’s a thing called a wild lemon. And the hand squeezed juice I labored over this morning was, well, puckering. In a turn-your-face-inside-out kind of a way.

I’m sure I will learn more things about Florida as I live down here for the next several weeks. My two goals are pretty simple: I hope to not make a complete ass of myself when tripping over some local colloquialism or oddity of geography, and I hope to not get bitten by a snake. I’ve heard they have lots of them down here, and if there’s one thing that turns me into a screaming girl, it’s the sight of a snake.

Maybe I should start carrying a hoe?

Naked Blogs

Today I head to Florida for 7 weeks and 2 days. I am braving it with only my Iphone in tow (my computer is staying at home because it’s not a travel-friendly variety). I can’t tell you how much I’m considering a laptop for the next office computer, lemme tell ya.

Although my friend has offered me the use of her laptop (We’ll get to see each other at the Faire every weekend), in truth, I don’t know how plentiful the wifi spots will be close to the Ren Faire, and so, my blog might be kind of naked while I’m gone. It’s not just the problem of a borrowed computer and an unmapped wifi environs; It goes back to the basic premise of the “Lesson of the Five Balls“, talked about in Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas, a cute but overly sappy story by James Patterson.

In your life, you juggle (metaphorically of course) 5 balls, and they represent family, health, integrity, friends, and work. Four of the balls – family, health, integrity and friends – are made of glass, and may get nicked or marred if dropped. Work is a rubber ball. It will bounce back. Now, I happen to think that that’s hyperbolizing a teensy bit for one that is self-employed, as work doesn’t seem to bounce back quite as easily, especially when a goodly part of one’s friends and one’s integrity are directly involved with one’s work. (Ie: I only get to see certain friends while at certain Faires, and I try to perform to the dates, times and work details on my window contracts, which will harm my integrity if dropped), but my blog is a rubber ball. I think.

I don’t know that I can effectively juggle it while in Florida, and although I’m going to try, I’m not going to bend my life around into uncomrfortable angles to make it work while I’m gone. Here’s to hoping that I’m right in my hunch, and that my blog will bounce back with renewed cheek and wit when I come back north in April.