Wishcraft is celebrating 30 years in print – and has been re-printed numerous times due to the overwhelming demand for the book. Go Barbara! Anywho, she’s celebrating on her Wishcraft website with an obstacle course (and prizes!), a ‘behind the scenes’ of what lead to Wishcraft, and a photo gallery. Let’s see what the next month has in store!

*dancey*

I know of one other gal who’s gonna have some in there, too.

I haven’t felt pain like that in a VERY long time. Apparently one of my bottom molars cracked in several places due to an old amalgam filling expanding & contracting over the years. So yesterday I went to my new dentist and he said he’d have to put a crown on that tooth… which meant lots & lots of grinding & drilling.

I’m not squeamish. Heck… I watch the phlebotomist draw my blood with great interest. I may be a bit morbid but I like seeing those little vials fill up…

Anyway, the dentist poked my gums full of holes to inject a lot of Novocaine – I was numb ’till 5:30 yesterday – and the grinding commenced after it all took affect. The worst part isn’t the sound of the grinding but the SMELL of ground tooth. *shudder*

And in other news… I quit my job today. Handed in my one-month notice. It’s definitely time to move on. I’ll be working freelance project management & development as well as getting more into teaching craft classes & trying to get more of my work into galleries & shops.

wish me luck!

Last Wednesday at lunch, I went over to a new gallery that opened up called the Blue Frog Gallery. I’ve passed by a few times when they were closed and peeked into the window. It looked like my kind of place. They’re an art gallery that showcases the owners’ and local artists’ work, and they also offer art and creativity classes.

I met Joanne, the VP & Creative Director. Very cool lady. She told me the vision for her place and mentioned that people may be scared to paint and get messy so they decided to mess up their floor & tables with paint before anyone else did – to make folks a bit more at ease.

I mentioned that my studio is always a mess. Her eyes lit up, “Are you an artist?” I told her “Sort of” and blushed… I showed her my bag which I had made and I could see in her face she had been waiting for me… that is, at least someone LIKE me. She asked if I would be interested in consigning my books & bags (after I showed her some of my stuff on my flickr account) with her.

Of course, I said yes.

I also told her about the classes I’ve taught and am gearing up to teach. This also caught her attention. One of the classes they’re offering is a journaling class. I make journals. She wants to sell & wants me to teach a class on making the journal – and people who decide to take her journaling class will have their very own hand-made (by them or me) journal to use.

So, I will be teaching there as well – as soon as the details are all worked out, of course.

I’m really doing it… And I’m so excited I could just explode…

for a very

long

time.

Just to make sure I did it right.

I know I should wish for peace,
to end hunger
and put orphaned kids with loving families…

But I say the hell with it and wish for
no debt,
enough money to quit working
and chocolate.

LOTS of chocolate.

more sunday scribblings here…

On one of the shelves of the hutch, I have my red walkie-talkie – one that my husband and I have used on our trip back from New Jersey when we drove both cars down. Nothing’s come from the walkie talkie in what seems like months. I’ve been sitting at this desk for months. Just sitting.

It’s definitely spring. The sky quickly turns dark and the green smell is replaced with the electric smell of a thunderstorm. I don’t move, even though I know I’ll get soaked.

A voice crackles from the walkie-talkie. Someone very familiar, but the voice is distorted, turning to static each time lightning strikes.

“Alexia… come…”

Buckets of water start pouring from the sky. And still I sit listening to the crackling, familiar voice. Water everywhere – running down the hutch, forming puddles on the desk, saturating my clothes & soaking through to my bones. The walkie-talkie is getting as saturated as I am – catching in the little holes for the speaker, filling all the little indentations where the knobs and buttons are.

The unintelligible voice is still coming through but all I hear through the static is “Alexia… come.”

Then silence.

The water’s done its work on my walkie-talkie and fries the electronics. My familiar voice is gone. My walkie-talkie is dead…