It’s close enough now to my travel to check the ten-day forecast for exotic locales, which is unspeakably exciting.
London looks mild and rainy, Oxford looks mild and cloudy, Barcelona looks beautiful, much like Tucson.
I feel great about what’s packed in my suitcase. It’s full of long and sweepy and short and shimmering skirts, colorful little scarves, fishnet tights, odd bits of glamour. One velvet cloak, one long, reversible featherlight elven rain cloak with a hood, one rope of red felt flowers. I have two carryons only, no checked luggage, my only real indulgence of space (after the velvet cloak) being a couple of books, my beading tray, and three pairs of shoes. I have high pointy black heels, mid-heel red leather pumps from Paris, skippy little ballet-style Mary-Jane Merrells that don’t mind the rain.
If space tightens up (as it always does) I could always abandon the black stilettos, but I feel I owe it to Ferry to step up, after all the pleasure he’s given me. It’s quite literally the least I can do.
I’ve got my head pretty much together as well, including a spanky Mod haircut. I didn’t want a haircut, I never want another haircut, but as I have admittedly failed to grow enough hair out to have it be long again today, which is the day of reckoning, I had to face facts. Either I could wear it in three pigtails for the next month, or get a swank do.
I was talking to Bill tonight about my pointless review of my own resume, which I was updating for my publisher, and which to my mind is a blank page, nothing on it. Seven books, 32 magazine articles. So what. And then I laughed, because I had to admit that I throw away trophies and burn award certificates. Who knows what I’ve done? I might have been a star. I haven’t the slightest idea. Last month, when I found all of the old magazines that I had articles in, I immediately gave the whole stack to the Goodwill. I was laughing about it at the time, thinking that if anyone bought them all because they were like, “Maybe I’ll get into beadwork and metalsmithing” they would think I was in every magazine ever published. Ha Ha HA.
So I don’t know what I’ve been doing but I definitely know I’ve been busy.
I suddenly remembered, too late for the publisher’s update, that I had won the Saul Bell Award in 2005, and my face was full page in the mags for a year after that. I was so embarrassed about the whole thing that I blocked it out. And I threw away my hunk of crystal with my name carved into it. But look! It was life-size, and it freaked people out, and it said wack shiz about Northern sunlight streaming off of the Pacific, and me holding a tiny little fine silver spike and listening to the metal, which I assuredly was not.
Although, humorously, as I got a little further into metalsmithing, I found that I did listen the to metal, which was even more absurd. Duh!
Now when I look at it, I think, “Hey, that chick looks cool, I like her long, straight hair.”