Posts Tagged ‘buttons’

Well, Saturday is nearly gone. The sun has set. The big V-day showcase was rather a bust. But that’s okay. Preparing is often more fun than arriving (except for making money.) I had a blast making the Love Pouches and if they don’t sell by Valentines I’m going to give them away to the cafe crew who modeled my wares. I’d like to make some Valentine’s cookies too. Make it a festive thank you. They keep me in coffee; it’s the least I can do.

‚ô• Meanwhile, I am working on an additonal Urban man scarf. I’d like to make a man scarflette w/button clasps, but it will take an ubber urban man to wear it. Hey men! Are you ubber enough? ūüėČ

‚ô• Harvey (my whiz-bang button maker) made some beauties from cherry wood. Beautiful. Photos later.

‚ô• It’s Saturday night, spring weather . . . and frankly, I’m not ready for spring. It’s February. I want chilly sunny days followed by rain, thunderstorms, windy nights.¬†¬†Spring quickly turns to summer here. And summer is long. This isn’t a good summer town. Santa Cruz is a good summer town–beach, ocean, sand, barefeet, what’s not to love. Urban pavement and suburban sprawl is not good for summer. Gridlock, heat stroke, noise, smoke, helicopters, yuck.

I know you think I’m jumping the gun somewhat, but I left my windows open today and my neighbor’s cigarette smoke wafted in. Double yuck. Givve me back winter, window lockdown, stormy white noise, quiet, quiet, quiet.


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I am reading my new camera instructions. It’s amazing how¬†quickly my eyes glaze over, and¬†how little info. I’m retaining. It makes me wonder how I got through college.

This camera has options, plural. Do-dads galore. I rather prefer¬†fewer choices. Too many, too much and I just walk away. For example, the supermarket toothpaste aisle. I¬†rarely remember what I bought before. Was it extra super-duper white w/fizzy bubble technology? Or All-day fighting action whitening w/baking soda time release. . . . and I know I’m not alone. Just look down that aisle, or¬†pick another: toilet paper–soft, bulky, smooth, powerhouse, fragrant, floral, colorful; or deodorant: womanly, manly, unisex, extra dry, extra fruity, spicy, flowery, w/baby powder, w/anti-persperant. . .

the store is a zombie zone. Poor working sods, 8 o’clock at night, staring blankly at detergent brands, salad dressing. Family¬†size?¬†Store brand?¬†Coupon sale? It’s amazing we make it out alive.

But back to the camera. I’m learning. Right now I treat it like a precious time bomb–my technological gizmo freeze-up: I’m afraid¬†if I¬†press the wrong button it will blow, fizzle, die. The Help Dept. will say, “You pressed THAT button? Oh, god. . . you should never do that–or switch this, or press those two buttons in unison.”

I will get past it, I think. When all else fails, when the battery fizzles, the screen flashes, the whatever counts down to zero, I simply unplug it, go to coffee, take a walk, eat chocolate, ignore it. And sometimes it works.


Yarn and such: I added cherry wood buttons made by my friend and neighbor, H. H. has made me two beautiful wood bowls, a small jewelry box and now some buttons. He loves working with wood and I love what he makes. Thank you, H.

Two man scarves get these buttons; the others get vintage ones. The scarves¬†look clean, urban, simple. No fringe or flapping ends. And I’ve found several good men to model them. I’m very excited.

Oh, and Lost is back on tomorrow night. Life is pretty good.


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So much for the sun. It made a small visit, then left in a whirl of wind and cold drizzle. And I bought cafe flowers! Now, they are huddled beneath a bench, wishing, surely, they were back at Target nestled between their seedling siblings.

So, I had to get Zephyr outdoors today, even for a short trod¬†in the muck–which the park really was. My motivation was gas station hot chocolate, my latest addiction. Starbucks be damned! The gas mart is where it’s at. For a $1.29 I get the whizz drip of the automatic cocoa dispenser,¬†and I get to press the buttons. (I love pressing buttons: elevators, stamp machines, semi-automatic door openers, the triple choice, hot drink machine. It’s 5-10¬†seconds of childlike fun. What will happen if I press this button? I know what’s supposed to happen,¬†but. . . .

So, my mocha/h.c./vanilla cafe mix choice was stellar, and oddly satisfying, especially post-mud romp. Zephyr, of course, waited in the driver’s seat, muddy paws, everywhere. I have a towel, but really, after a gazillion dirt road wanderings, my jeep is quite the dirty, furry, road weery¬†machine. I sometimes envy those sporty little city cars, vacuumed, polished, shiny, a car you could wear a black¬†cocktail dress in w/o a snit of worry; no fur roller needed, no snagging your nylons on the dog torn seat cover–but then it goes away. ūüôā

* * *

And this. . . just as we were leaving the park, I noticed a little white card w/a stamp lying in the gutter. A fairly clean street, I stared at it for a minute then got out and picked it up. It was a letter from a house one block over, going south (CA). The envelope was soaked, dirty. The postman had dropped it. Awful!

And yet I was a little thrilled. ¬†(see¬†cocoa dispenser happiness, above.)¬†I found a¬†real¬†letter,¬†pen written, hand stamped. I was so grateful it¬†was return addressed, otherwise, I might still be out there, door-to-door, looking for it’s sender. . . OR! I could have mailed it onward adding the story of the letter’s adventure. Ooh, that would have been good too.

Anyway, I found the house, the owner. He was very pleased w/his goodfortune, my find, but had the grabs on a Doberman Pincher in the doorway, rather anxious, it looked, to eat me, so we waved our quick goodbyes.


So, on the tail of dreadful night’s sleep, it was a good day. (R even brought me warm banana/Nutella nut bread at the cafe today. ūüôā How sweet is he?

Now, I need to feed Zephyr, finish my 3rd man scarf, and finish typing¬†little love¬†notes on my old Olympia, a treat w/my Valentine’s Day showcase.

Today’s word: Optimism.¬†


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