My, what a time it’s been. It’s good to be feeling human again, find my own self in my skin. For so long now, I’ve been a machine, moving toward the goal. At some level, that’s still the case, but the creative work is no longer at the fore, its all admin until the shipping is finished. It’s still work, of course, but it doesn’t consume my consciousness.

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Like any type of birthing process, the travail of the final blaze of work in service of press and production of the CGB book set is fading from my consciousness, and now I’m just a squirrel, working in my database, agog at the many names and pre-orders for the book. I admit, I hadn’t really been keeping track in past months. And I don’t really think about books in terms of how many copies sell. I write odd little manuals, that’s fine with me.

However. There are rather a large number. I still don’t know exactly how many, I won’t have final counts until I finish the data entry; there are things to look up, things to check, to solve, new orders to add. My database is what I will live or die by in the shipping; one slip of a line could essentially destroy me. It sounds dramatic, however, the fact is that if I ship a thousand orders incorrectly, I will have no way to ship a thousand more in replacement or adjustment. This has turned out to be a project of a scope that I never would have tackled, had I any idea. That is both worrisome and thrilling.

I knew that if I kept a very conscious count of the numbers while the project went into overtime, they would floor me, and make it too difficult to imagine how to handle them all, or make me feel badly for taking so long. In fact, just thinking about how to successfully release the digital edition of Volume II before shipping is a bigger thought-ball than I can fit into my head. It is no longer possible to email large groups of people without getting a professional license. Which I am not doing, because I have no intention of emailing anyone, about anything, unless it’s a personal message or I am replying to a query.

Karen Beningfield and I have a plan, which I hope will work smoothly. I’ll put up a post on Monday morning with a link, here, on the Book Blog, and on our Facebook page.

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My bank account, after paying last week’s installment to the press and my own bills, is down to 54 cents, which is amazing, if not in the least surprising. It’s been an interesting couple of years.

I’ll be putting up delights in the Shop for the next month, Treasure Boxes, metalwork, one-of-a-kind pieces. The usual delights.  Have a peek if you like, there are three rather beautiful boxes in there now, plus of course the book pre-orders, fine art prints, and the Volume II Bead Assortment (which is all beads, no findings, and what beautiful beads they are…)

I am grateful for your support in all forms, past, present and future – love, links, orders, tomatoes, good wishes. You name it, I am thankful for it.

Anyway, if you’ve been thinking about a bead kit, a book, or a Treasure Box, or putting in your wholesale order, now is a rather nice time on this end. And remember, only the pre-orders of Volume II and the two-book set are going out of my studio, signed, with postcards. After that, shipping will be a bit less personal, done by Amazon, Helby, etc., so if you want the traditional package, please order before September 15th.

Love! And thank you, for everything.

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just another mindbending sky

It was a beautiful day in Boston.

Boston skies

I registered the boys for school (papers accepted!), signed the galley corrections for the books, sent a freakload of email, paid my bills, and made eight Treasure Boxes in some of the pretty cigar boxes I got downtown.  No charge for the boxes, of course.

I love this building on the corner of Mass Ave. and Tremont. The green turrets slay me.

Mass Ave and Tremont

There is a real yarn-bombing mindset here. Fuzzy poles and bridges everywhere, very nice.


Bill will be in Boston tomorrow, which is great timing. I am definitely interested in a kiss or three.


I am astonished that we are moving to Cambridge in two weeks (during the Crush, too) and even more astonished that I myself arranged it, due to the every bit as astonishing circumstance that I have two children still in high school.

Of course it’s fairly common in this world for people who are not suited to things to find themselves doing them.

flowers on a summer evening

When I was a child, I naively thought I was only responsible for my own education. I knocked off 12 years in 10, I was so motivated; I was in university at the age of 16. Well, the joke was on me; I was clever, but I hadn’t twigged to some really obvious things, like how life really works.

This morning, having filled out an inch-high stack of repetitive, dated forms, in which I was asked to hand-write the same information over and over (I am amazed that these forms have not improved in my lifetime) I must now get on the bus and go to School.

Whatever they tell me to do, I must do. If they need a document, I must procure it. Clutching my papers, I am off to try to do the best for my boys, to try to stand in for Bill, who will soon enough be here to take over.

Bill has no qualms about School, like the noble people I must now go submit my paperwork to, he’s given his life to education. Me, I feel like a wolf, submissive, uncomfortable, hoping for the best.

cool and chewy

It was a lovely cool day today in Boston. I’ve retreated to odd hours and back streets, because the city is filling up again.

One of the things that fascinates me about entire blocks of identical row houses or brownstones is how each segment has been pimped or trimmed or painted through the years to give it individuality.

pretty night in boston

This street has so many lovely examples that it’s hard to choose which one is my favorite. But I admit a fondness for the simple, clean white.

there is plenty of summer left

In my dreams, I am living summer. It’s probably a piece of me from later today, after I sign and submit the final Volume I press galleys. Temptation is strong to just sign them all without a final review and move on with life, but that would be undignified after all of this work.

I’m achy and thrashed, in and out, but that’s just to be expected. It’s completely normal. In eight weeks, this feeling will be forgotten, and the happiness of delivering content will fill me. This is a perfect time to look not only in the mirror, to see where I am putting noise in place of signal, but at the mirror image of what makes me happy.

Administrative work is in my crosshairs right now; I’ve singled it out of the herd of distractions and positively identified it as the down side of my life in society. It dogs days, it steals pieces of peace, it eats little bites of my mental rivers, it is the rock that I am tied to and cannot seem to cut away from, but I see that this is mostly because I am linked administratively with other humans, and so am often prevented from acting swiftly. Things drag on, papers useless and useful stack up.

I am infested with determination. I must get this soulless section of my life, dreaded Admin, smaller.

All Dead

mouse and hedgehog in glass boxes, Museum of Natural History, Harvard

I realize that I am really hungry; twelve hours ago, at 10 pm., I was deciding I was too beat to walk out for dinner. Right now, I won’t make the same mistake. The morning was cold, but I’ll bet the day has turned sparklingly summery and that in the fringes out here in the South End a girl with a manuscript can still get a table.

In Cambridge there are suddenly so many people, milling about, each campus is full of tours, freshers with their parents, many people feeling awkward in new spaces. I can only imagine the malls, the Target store. Everyone will be out shopping this weekend- it’s a tax holiday in Massachusetts, presumably to help people handle school supplies and college move-ins.

This is a day, a week, to walk the edges of the hive of humanity.

long week

There were too many hours of work in this week. But it all got done.

I can’t think how, as each day brought some sort of strange unnecessary business that ate pieces of time like they were almonds in a party dish. I had to replace every hijacked moment out of my own raw materials. Like when a baby is short of calcium; it simply steals it from its mother’s bones.

Miss Fish and a Bunny

I am badly missing Miss Fishing, and looking forward to going home for a bit in three weeks, to rustle up some peace and some love and some soft sweet cat cuddles. It’s been a pretty long time now since I’ve had a simple moment with a simple creature who simply loved me.

Everything else is complicated. My cat is not complicated.


Yesterday I stopped fiddling with the press PDFs around dinnertime, and met Bri downtown for pho.
boston is paramount

I walked around Chinatown for a while. There was a place where one building had simply been ripped off of another.

Some of the bricks that once connected them were wrenched out, leaving (in the left chimney ghost) a raw opening into the masonry. Other connecting elements were left jutting out, any holes opening into the other form, before it crumpled.

China KingAnd now, the world gets the China King, and a brickstain.

I am unconvinced by Chinatown. It seems like a stage set.slices of Boston

One of the things I love best about tall buildings is the way that they play into the sky. Always, there are reflected blues, often, actual reflections in windows or mirror finishes. I can never stop staring at buildings, I walk around blocks, looking at them this way and that, through this slice or that one.

Bill and the boys and the cats are all piling into the car this weekend and driving to Boston. I worry, of course, all of those beloved creatures in one hurtling basket, but there it is. We are having adventures; there is risk. Best not to think about it.

Admiral Upskirt, Bri’s cat, is definitely thinking about it, because (in the way of cats) he psychically knows that something is up; in fact he is 100% correct. He will have to host Jasper and Wyatt until we move to Cambridge on the 1st, as the South End flat is not cat-positive. I’m hoping they all distract each other from the disruption; after all, the Admiral is just a cute little kitten, and our cats are friendly and playful.

“What could go wrong?”, we say, laughing.