It Only Hurts When I Laugh

This afternoon, I went with my Mom to Fabricville. They're having a gigantic sale. Luckily for me, I didn't find much that I wanted. I bought three dollars' worth of notions, and left it at that. There were some gorgeous silks and luminescent draperies which would have made splendid costumes, but they're too expensive for me, even on sale. If I knew for certain my wares would sell, then yes, I'd go for it and buy the textiles. But it's all a gamble. Although people seem to really like the stuff I make, and the colour combinations and fabrics I use, they rarely dish out the money to make these things their own. Again, hopefully that shall change this summer, when Fredericton's influx of summer tourists check out my creations.

( I left my hair down, today. )

Training Your Children

When I was twelve years old, I lived in a tiny little place called Savona. It's a tiny mill and railway community, and this was also the place with the smalled school I ever attended. There were only four others in my grade seven class. Older kids were shipped off to nearby Kamloops to go to school.

Even at the advanced age of twelve, I was frequently babysat by some JW girls named Holly and Heidi. Holly was nasty and a liar. She used to hit and tease me when no adults were around. It never occurred to me to snitch on her. Heidi was friendly enough, but really, really dumb. She once, while in her late teens, destroyed a couple of pots in an attempt to burn water. But Heidi was dumb in ways other than her scientific experimentation. I suspect she had a death wish.

One of Heidi's sources of entertainment were the trains which steadily moved in and out of Savona. You may have seen public service announcements about the things you ought not to do around railways. Trespassing is one of the things you shouldn't do, but everyone does. As long as you look both ways, crossing railway tracks isn't all that dangerous. And I suppose someone could lose an eye by putting pennies on a railway tie. But other tabus--like the one Heidi was fond of--are much more dangerous.

Heidi liked to go train-surfing.

She used to invite me along with her, but I always refused vehemently. There were things I'd rather do than dangle off a bridge to leap onto a boxcar. And I certainly didn't want to have to leap off onto crushed rock fifteen feet down once the train had picked up speed. I was a hyper kid, and a tomboy, but I wasn't stupid.

I don't know what happened to Heidi. I don't recall hearing any stories about a tragic accident involving a freighter's cattlecatcher, so I'm guessing she lived. She probably married an equally stupid man and has sprogged out a few kids who are either stupid via eugenics, or frightfully embarassed of their parents.

Useless

I think I'm suffering from a combination of bee-killing and head smashitis. I've been operating with what seems to be a low-grade migraine ever since my desk bashed my brains out yesterday afternoon. I spent most of the day in bed, reading a book. It's been too long since I've had a long, uninterrupted reading session, but I feel listless, unproductive, and stupid--not to mention sick. Stupid cramps. Stupid headache. Grr.

I want to do something, but it can't be too think-intensive. So maybe I'll start working on another one of my tiered skirts. This time, I won't do a floorlength one, but something short and flirty. It'll take much less time and fabric, and maybe I can sell a bunch. We'll see. I have heaps of crazy vintage fabric which would probably look great in a skirt, so here goes nothing....