The End of a Season

A yawn.

A contented sigh.

I can almost feel Mayfaire curl up like a cat in the sun and close its eyes.

It was a good season! And hugs to all who made it so. :)
...

Almost Over

I think it's supposed to be all about THIS....

The last weekend of Fest approacheth. With much work to do, art to print, product to package, the works.

And it comes with no less than three whole days to give this moneymaking thang a final shot. But instead of knocking myself out preparing for it, what am I doing? Spending today walking outside in the glorious September sunshine.

This is a clue. A clue as to Why I Suck At Business.

If I was serious at all about Fest and this final 3-day weekend, I'd be pulling some long, exhausting, all-nighters preparing to sell art to every person walking through the Front Gate this coming weekend. Right?

But instead I'm out for a leisurely stroll.

(Sigh.)

Fest is supposed to be about making money. That's kind of the point. Selling my work is what I do now, and my goal is to make a living at it. (Notice I didn't say my goal is to get rich at it; it hasn't happened yet and it never will. But what it does for me in other ways makes me rich enough.)

I've been going along for the last six weeks convinced that this year has been over-the-top for me, saleswise. It has to be! I'm on my feet from morning cannon to evening cannon, talking my face off and wearing out my smile muscles. I've been laughing heartily, hugging gently, listening intently, caring greatly, and trying not to think about money changing hands. Surely all that activity has made my cash drawer as full as it's made my heart!

But the numbers don't lie. In reality, I'm remembering a shop full of people, but not necessarily people buying art.

For every poopyhead who walks into Mayfaire and says, "My dog could draw better than that," or "Oops, I thought this was the shop of the GOOD pen-and-ink artist," there've been boatloads of folks (like yourself, maybe) who've come in just for a hug, or to tell me you miss the days when I was your receptionist, or to show me pictures of your new grandchild because you know I understand what it's like to be a grandparent, or to say things like, "My mom went to grade school with you and she wasn't able to come with me today but she wanted me to look you up and tell you that she always knew you'd grow up to be a famous artist!" (Working at the Renaissance Festival equals famous! I love it.)

My minion, Sir Douglas, tells me every weekend after totaling receipts that I'd make more bucks if I'd do things differently. I give my work away, for one thing. It's gotten so that my friends will sneak in when my back is turned and buy art from him when I'm not looking so they can do so and pay full price. Because they know how I roll.

And I admit that I often catch myself forgetting to close a sale. Or I talk a customer out of a sale (can you believe it??) because I don't want them to buy if they're not 100% happy with the purchase. Or I send them to another artist whose work I know is more in the style of what they're looking for so that they can compare and make a more informed choice. Or I pull them away from looking at art so that I can otherwise engage them in conversation. (I'm such a bad businessperson! But you can't help it if you're so interesting.)

Others remind me that I'd be rollin' in the bucks if I'd just take my business seriously. (I do take it seriously. It's just that more important stuff gets in the way....)

And still others insist I'd be a rockstar if I'd just license my designs or display my work at Cons or sell tattoo flash or fill-in-the-blank. And I listen, I really do. But the suggestions never go anywhere. None of it makes sense to me. I wouldn't know where to start, for one thing. And to me, the seven weekends of Fest are about as Big Business as I can imagine. I get more attention there than I can stand. And I even sell some art, too.

So it's my own fault that I'm not as successful as maybe I could be. I have a great imagination, but it can't begin to fathom my work in Hot Topic stores or in the pages of Faerie Magazine or as the foundation of a Mary Engelbreit-like empire. It's impossible for me to even wrap my head around the concepts. (And really? It's all a little frightening to me. It smacks of 'rich and famous' which, in my brain, is one of the Seven Levels of Hell.)

Bottom line? Maybe I'm just an artist who fears success. Or maybe I feel like I'm already rich enough. And maybe this post -- about how I'm determined to be in business for myself and yet I SO suck at business -- is one of the most hard-to-admit ones I've yet to write.

But that delayne up there in those paragraphs? I kind of like her.
...

You Can Make a Difference

Ten Things About My Week

This week has been all about:

1. As much sleep-getting as possible.

2. Cupfuls of Mister Bubble in the bath.... (Remember that commercial? "Madam, how do you dooooo?")

3. More ideas than my little world can hold.

4. My whole self's frantic absorption of All Things Autumn before the curtain closes and reopens on All Things Winter.

5. Stolen moments for reading. (Earlier this week it was a fabulous handwritten manuscript by an artist friend. Now it's a little 19-cent paperback copy of Hurray for Me by author S.J. Wilson.)

6. 'Grandpa Ott' morning glories blooming amidst the dried Milkweed stalks, bee-bedecked Sedum, and gone-to-seed Artemesia in my messy front garden.

7. Pink Lady apples for breakfast and lunch, followed by popcorn for supper.

8. Angsty, ranting, hair-pullery in response to computer giraffecrap. Hate computers. Hate them. Maybe even hate Technology. 

9. The sense that my thoughts are swirling into little Dust Devils. They're picking up speed now and beginning to disorganize what little sense I've managed to make of the many clutter-filled rooms in my head. Things are getting messy again....

10. The happy/sad readiness for Fest to be over now.....
...
 

Forced Laryngitis

My computer's down for the count, and without a keyboard I am lost.

Make that capital 'L' Lost.

Heck, make that capital everything LOST.

Since its demise last week I've hunted down my fun-to-write-with pen (you've got one too, I know) and have been furiously writing notes, making lists, penning ideas, and composing journal entries. My hands just need to make words! And my head just needs to get them out.

But it's still not enough. I feel voiceless....

I think what's missing is the You factor. I forget how important it is for me to 'talk' to you like this. (You're so special to me; big thankyous for being out there.)

Hopefully soon I can write to you without having to do so from my phone. I can type as fast as I think, just not with my thumbs so much. And we both know how dang wordy I can be. Just these few paragraphs have taken me the greater part of my coffee break, and that's just frustrating. Plus, these thumbs weren't made for texting.

Anyway, when I do write again, I'll be sure to include many X's and O's.

Because you're in my thoughts and I've missed you. :)
...

From Me

Dear Mother Nature,

You totally nailed it today!

The biggest of thankyous.

<3,
...me.

A Fair Day Off

Even though preparations for the upcoming Labor Day weekend at Fest are keeping me busy (and will now require some all-nighters), I couldn't help but give a day away this week to the great Minnesota get-together: the Minnesota State Fair.

The State Fair runs every August for (I think) twelve days, ending on Labor Day. And because my weekends are devoted to the Renaissance Festival at the same time, I have to fit it in where I can.

I like it more every year I'm there. 

James, as it turns out, has never really been a fan, but I like to think that going there with me is changing his attitude. We can now spend an entire day there together from dawn until dark, and he'll patiently look at every quilt and 4-H project I choose to ponder. However, the one thing I think he could happily live without is the Annual Touring of the Animal Barns....

It doesn't matter that I've never really lived on a farm or even spent a moment slopping pigs or milking goats. In my head I see myself as a Farmgirl. So spending long and happy moments touring the noisy animal barns is one of my State Fair pleasures. And because James would be meeting me there after half a day of work, I decided this year to get to the Fair way before he did so I could see the barns at my leisure without having to park him on a bench to read the paper.

It was a great idea.

However, I slept through my morning alarm, then missed my first bus to the State Fair shuttle point, and then was annoyed and dismayed to discover that what was supposed to be a shuttle point wasn't.... Hours that could've been spent seeing farm animals were rapidly slipping away.

Sam

And I was sitting on a bus bench feeling dang sorry for myself when I observed a couple getting out of their car across the way. Both were in straw cowboy hats and sensible shoes -- definitely Fair folk. They approached a bus driver, asked a question, seemed surprised by the answer, and began returning to their car. A lightbulb went off in my head and I quickly caught up with them. And -- bless their hearts! -- they were willing to give me a ride to the real shuttle point. And soon we were all en route to the Fair.

Ruth

Ruth and Sam Stuart are from Carlton, Minnesota. They are definitely kindred spirits. As we rode together they told me stories about everything from beekeeping to hand-woven rugs to their travels around the country. I was fascinated. As we got closer to the Fair, I suddenly realized that the crazy mishaps of my morning were far away in my memory, and because of these delightful Minnesotans I had a smile on my face once more. (Thank you, Ruth and Sam for saving the day!)

As it turned out, James had arrived at the Fair just moments before me. We began our day in the International Bazaar by checking out the merchandise in the Irish on Grand booth and sampling some new (to us) State Fair foods. First on the list were the lamb 'fries' at the Holy Land Deli (tasty), and then the beef tongue caramelos at Sonora Grill (not so much....). And over the course of the day we sampled smoked pig ankles, SPAM curds, and bacon ice cream, as well as a host of other State Fair faves like Pronto Pups and cheese curds.

I'm the world's best customer, I swear. As James and I strolled through the Grandstand I couldn't help but yearn for the Singer sewing machines and the Hammond organs, the hanging hammocks and the Sham-Wow, the mop that picks up pet hair and the slicey-dicey kitchen device that does everything from creating serving boats out of watermelons to turning radishes into roses. I listened to all the sales pitches with eyes filled with wonder until James gently led me (and his wallet) a safe distance away.


I stood in line for a free tube of pickle-flavored lip balm. I wore a paper mosquito hat so tall that it kept bumping into things. I dodged strollers, trod through manure, watched strands of fluffy cotton candy float away on the breeze, smelled barbecue and heard calliope tunes. I saw beauty queens carved in butter, ate chocolate-covered bacon, drank cold Culligan water, listened to banjo pickers. I shook hands with the Vita-Mix lady who sold me my appliance over 15 years ago and told her that I still use it every day. I collected literature on how to raise rabbits and how to compost kitchen scraps in a bin under the sink. I ate more ice cream in one day than I have all year! I thought my feet were going to fall off....

I ate my first ear of sweet corn of the summer. I took pictures of art made entirely of seeds. I saw the state's largest pumpkin, weighing over a thousand pounds! I studied the workings of a steam-powered pencil sharpener. I delightfully toured (and by 'toured' I mean entered and barely turned around in) some of the smallest little camping trailers ever, and I imagined myself going to Renaissance Festivals and living in one of them.

And then at the end of the day I finally got to the Poultry Barn.

I like all the barns, but the Poultry Barn is one of my faves. (No surprise: the Horse Barn is another, but by the time James and I get to the Fair, most of the stalls seem empty....) James found a bench for resting his feet and closing his eyes, and I made a bee-line for the chickens.

I love the big and fluffy ladies that I'm sure would take my head off if there wasn't a cage between us, but my favorites are the little ones that look like they just stepped out of a painting of an old English cottage. I'm a big fan of Runner Ducks. And even though I'm sure they're nasty as all get-out, I can't help but love what I like to call the Mother Goose geese....

All the while I was in the Poultry Barn, I kept encountering an elderly man in a suit and a straw cowboy hat. A young woman was pushing him in a wheelchair. They stopped at every cage and he whispered to each bird. It made me think about farms and the farmers who love them. It reminded me of the story Sam Stuart shared with me of his 80-year-old friend who was offered millions for the acreage surrounding his homestead but stubbornly wouldn't sell. It made me think of the farms that are disappearing.... And my inner Farmgirl, stuck here in the 'burbs with a deep yearning for wide open spaces, kind of wept for him.

It was dark and the Midway was just gearing up by the time James and I called it quits. My old legs were screaming and it was a blessed pleasure to climb into the car for the ride home. And on the way I thought about beekeeping and cornfields, and the logistics of bringing a thousand-pound pumpkin to the Fair, and how many hours it must take to recreate the Last Supper out of millet and mustard seeds. And I thought about kids and their cows, and old men remembering chickens, and old women submitting shining Mason jars full of pickles and rainbow-hued jellies so pretty they look like stained glass. And I wondered if there are any little kids nowadays who even get to see a farm let alone live on one or have grandparents who still live on one. And I thought about the Stuarts and how lucky I was to meet them and hear their stories.

It was a day full of happy and sad and wonder and awesome.

It was just a normal day at the Fair.
...