Off-roading it a bit

Scenic pullout in Massachusetts along Hwy 9

Scenic pullout in Massachusetts along Hwy 9

Sometimes, a journey has a specific Plan: go here, stay there, see these people, leave next day for somewhere else.

Such were my wanderings, more or less, up until yesterday morning, Wed the 12th.  I had my last scheduled dinner Tuesday night with a much-loved friend, and Wed morning at ten o’clock, I still hadn’t made up my mind: I very much wanted to visit Salem, Mass, a second time. I could also see friends in Reading if I went That Way.

I’m having trouble posting pics for you. Darn blogging app. And the regular in-browser editor is wonky, too. Sorry about that. I’ll try to put a few at the end.

I could drive the normal (?) way home, stopping in Syracuse to see friends there.

Or…I kind of wanted to try something one of my Naomi friends had suggested: Enter a destination, vague, like Canadian Border. Then, disallow toll roads. (This works best in a place like New England that is cluttered with collection booths).

Then hit “go”…and see what happens.

What happened for me was that Barbie (my GPS voice) took me from Main Street, Northampton, along a few minor highways heading rather north-ish, to Hwy 87N.

Hwy 87N has no tolls…and barely any traffic. It took me high up into the Adirondack Mountains, so I could see treestreestrees, and lakes, and quaint homes and farms of every description.

The air was fresh, like it is in a real forest of a certain size. Chilly, with the clearest, brightest sunshine. Many of the leaves had turned and fallen already, but there was an occasional tree clad in an emperor’s royal red that took my breath away.

Thank you, Barbie. The scenery was well worth the extra two to three hours of driving.

Unfortunately, it was so curvy with many Unexpected Trucks that I didn’t get a chance to pull over and take photos. ::sadface::

I stopped for the night after about six hours of driving, got myself checked into a hotel (I boldly walked up to the desk at 5 pm asking if they had an open room for the night—que cajones!), and went to throw open the curtains just to see what’s out there.

This time, “what’s out there” happened to be a Canadian border crossing, literally about two blocks from my bedroom.

I had no clue that I was that close.

So today, Thurs the 13th, I enter Canada via Quebec, and drive for a while through a lovely province I have heard so much about. Another stop tonight, and then, midday Friday: Home.

Not all who wander are lost, you see.

Who’s that?

Who the heck has climbed into my purple Namaste bag?

Who the heck has climbed into my purple Namaste bag?

That sure isn’t Truffles, my usual Travelling Companion.

Whoever they are, they’ve snuck into my purple purse and cuddled themselves into my favorite storebought cashmere sweater.

Now, who do you think would have the heart of mischief required to do such a thing?

I guess we’ll all just have to wait until next post to find out.

P. S. This is my 200th post since I switched to WordPress. Yay!




Travelling woman

Since I last posted (from NY? No clue), I have driven All the Miles and stayed either with peeps or in hotels. I now have a fave hotel chain, a statement that reflects just how many chains I have tried.



First place goes to Country Inn & Suites, for overall sparkling cleanliness, price deals, breakfast quality, and bed comfiness. Second place (close on heels!) is Hampton Inn & Suites, for all the same reasons. Just a wee bit of travel insight in case you haven’t had the chance to try umpty-three chains yourself. You’re welcome.

I am currently in Utterly Gorgeous North Carolina. I was fortunate enough to be able to attend one of the best fiber festivals in my experience: SAFF, South-Eastern Animal Fiber Festival (or similar, I will look it up when I have internet to post this post).


The setting is beautiful. But check this out:


It’s Rhinebeck South!

That’s the inside of the main building. Booths are in a ring around the edges, and then in a central oval, with booths facing the booths on the edge. (but wait! there’s more!)

If you go up the stairs to the snacks and restrooms ring at the top of the stadium, there are MORE booths all along that second-floor walkway.

Go outside, cross the parking lot, and you will find a second building, a barn will a similar ringed arrangement.

Which I did not take a picture of. :)

Cross a gravel road, and you are at the animal barns.

Which is where I met the fine fellow whose photo is at the end of this post. He won Grand Champion, and from his bearing and noble eyes, you can tell he knows it. However, he is a true champion, humble and courteous, so he will not think himself better than you. In fact, Himself was not above giving the Paca Princess a few kisses on her nose.

There’s more to tell, the past week down here has brought me friendships both new and renewed, so there are people to introduce and pictures of a five-day-old cria for you to coo over.

However, checkout time looms, and it’s time to find a route and get on the road.

More later, I promise.

I am trying to find a way to post multiple photos in a place you can see them ( I still have a flikr acct, hm), but in the meantime:

I have joined the Instagram crowd, user sandiwiseheart, and I am posting daily as much as possible there. (If you don’t know Instagram from an app-in-the-wall, it is basically photo-sharing, one at a time, with captions. Usually folks like me post only one pic a day or so, so it isn’t overwhelming).

Love and llama kisses!



Two days before Rhinebeck


I am so fortunate to be here.

I am so fortunate to be here.

I left it as a large photo because this place is beyond awesome. I’m in a town in the hills just outside of Syracuse, waaayyy upupup. My awesome hosts, friends of a friend, offered to let me stay in their loft the week between Stitches East and Rhinebeck. I am completely captivated by the surroundings, and by my charming hosts.

Hold on… Perhaps I ought to back up a bit to fill you in.

I’ve been thinking about a “Fall Tour, East Coast Version” for a while, and when my friend Jen, the superhero indie dyer behind Holiday Yarns, invited me to be a booth babe at a couple of the fall shows, I, not being an idiot, said Holy Stitchmarkers, Batman: YES.

Gotham City Skyline Socks, designed by Melanie Matos. Kit & Pattern available from Holiday Yarns.

Gotham City Skyline Socks, designed by Melanie Matos. Kit & Pattern available from Holiday Yarns.

Tuesday, Oct 7th, I drove to Syracuse, NY, where Jen’s dye studio is. Last-minute Happenings ended with me joining Susan, owner/operator of The Yarn Cupboard in Jamesville, for dinner…at her mother’s house in Jamesville with sisters, Mama, and a cousin or two all around the table.

They’re Italian. Mama had made a pasta dish with some kind of (delicious) meatballs, and there was HOME MADE canneloni for desert.

I really do have pictures of canneloni and cookies! Patience

Turns out that one of the sisters is trained as a pastry chef, and owned her own bakery for years.

I like Susan’s family.

Because time is of the essence right now, I will post more pics and words(!) about all these ongoing Hi-jinks as I get seconds to sit down and tap the keys. 

After a lovely sleep in Susan’s guest room (she trusted me enough to leave me alone with both her yarn stash And her quilting sash…now THAT’s trust), Jen, assistant dyer Melanie, and Colorful Personality Minion (that’s me) set off for Stitches East, held in beautiful-but-impossible-to-navigate (especially with a marathon running right down the main streets, causing detours and nice, capable cops trying to stay polite whilst giving alternate routes to people who are shaky-at-best on the original routes.

Until I have more time to tell stories and introduce folks properly, how about a few photos to tell some of the story for me?

Ummm…my iPad is having hissy fits about those pics. The internet here fails to acknowledge me sometimes, so how about some STUNNING Stitches pic later? GAH. 

I promise there will be Yarn Pr0n, on my honour.

Where am I headed today after I tear myself away from paradise up here?


I hope to see you there. I have the honour of being the sales minion for jessalu’s bags, sold at the Holiday Yarns booth…

on beyond the Yarn Beyond!


ps linking isn’t working properly either.  Doomed.

Note: obviously, I wrote this post last week, and I have more adventures to share. The reason this is posting so late has to do with Inconsistent Internet. But I’ll keep trying when I find a decent hotel room or a starbucks. I love Panera, but it’s internet is a tad wonky at times.

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How Tim Lost His Eye

You asked questions! I am thrilled. Thank you. I love answering questions.

Sharon and Msuem both asked…

How Tim Lost His Eye

look what came in the mail

That’s my mischief maker! He is our Canadian cat, as he is the first pet we have obtained since moving here.

This little guy and his mom were found outside a garage in a snowbank by Frances, the mother of Denise, one of Melody’s grad students. I think there may have been other sibs who found homes before we came into the story, but when Denise contacted Melody and asked if she wanted a kitten, it was just Tim and Daisy, his mom, living in a warm guest room upstairs in Frances’ house.

Except at that time, Tim was living under his Witness Protection Program name: Boots.

tim in a box

Once we got him home, all four pounds of him (he was about seven weeks old), we realized that he didn’t so much have boots as he had long white leggings.

puzzled tim

And calling a perfectly sweet kitten “Leggings” just did not seem fair at all. (Someone once said he had grey “spats”. I looked her in the eye and said, so, you want us to call our adorable new kitten “SPATS”?)

(It was kind of one of those laughing with your hands on your knees moments.)

We cast about for a name. We tried everything we could think of, from the sublime “Prince Hairy” to the redonkulous “Swashbuckle”.  We’d stand in front of him, look him in the Eye, and say, “Swashbuckle! Hello-ooooo, Swashbuckle! Are you a Swashbuckle? Swashbuckle!” all in that sugary-sweet Shirley Temple high-pitched voice that one reserves for baby kittens and baby kittens alone. And wee Not-Swashbuckle would blink, look at us quizzically for a moment, and then yawn and start studiously cleaning his nether regions.

Ooooooh-kayyyy, then. Not a Swashbuckle. Gotcha.

One day we were watching the folks filing into choir practice, several of them with their evening cup o’ Tims, which has a store about two blocks from us. Melody and I looked at each other with that dorky ohHO look that is our patented dorky couple look. When we got home, we presented Not-Swashbuckle with “Tim”–and he didn’t lick his butt! That was good enough for us, so Tim of Horton’s he is, a truly Canadian Cat.

OK. So. Back to the Not-Eye.

He actually does have an eye in there, so saying he lost his eye is a wee bit dramatic. When we met him, we noticed that he kept his left eye almost closed all the time, and it seemed to run a bit. Frances told us that she had found him that way, and the vet had given her some ointment in case it was an infection.

We took him to our vet, who gave us the 411: You know how cats have that inner eyelid?(Warning: slight gross-out ahead for those with eye squidges, sorry) Well, somewhere along the line, probably in the womb or during birth, his inner eyelid got stuck to the surface of his cornea, so that when it came time to open his eyes as a baby, the inner eyelid tore (we think), leaving parts stuck to the cornea and parts attached to his outer eyelid.

When he was older, the vet suggested an operation to try and separate the inner eyelid bits stuck to the cornea, to lessen the risk of bad juju. We took him in for the surgery, and for a while after, it looked as though he would recover almost completely.

Except that he didn’t. The membranes got stuck together again, and after a couple more rounds of medication and poor-baby kisses, the vet said it was better not to mess with his eye too much, and that was that.

So he still has that eye, but it is partially covered by bits of his inner eyelid, and he can’t fully open the eye because of the bits stuck to the outer lid.

No, we have never put an eye patch on him and growled, “Avast, ye Cap’n Tim!” His claws grow super-fast, and they are Sharp.



Can he see out of that eye?

We think so. We think he can see light and dark, like shadows, maybe shapes, that sort of thing. Not a lot of detail, probably.

But TimCat can jump six feet from floor to banister post without a waiver. (The top of the post is four inches square.) He jumps all over, up and down, down and up, as if to prove that he is still a Most Worthy Cat. Never falls. Never hesitates. We don’t know if he is using the veiled eye to help triangulate, or if he is turning his head in lots of mini-moves to get the coordinates right.

I will say that the two times a feline has caught a live mouse in this house, that feline has been Tim. Great Hunter Tim clearly doesn’t need no stinkin’ second eye.

Question: Why don't kitties ever get napper's block?

Question: Why don’t kitties ever get napper’s block?


Here’s Oskar, a truly blind kitty, learning to play with his very first toys.

Posting this video is my way of arm-waving so you don’t notice that I have not yet been able to locate one of Tim’s own baby pictures. I owe you a Tim Baby Pic. Remind me if I forget.

Thank you, all of you, for the wonderful, kind, and yes, loving comments. You are giving me the strength to climb out of the pit, one chispa at a time :)


peeking out, because of kindness

This post is dedicated to the kindness of LauraLyn, who along with a few others of you, have sent me several lovely emails out of the blue, expressing concern and support for me whilst depression has been eating my brainz. Thanks to all of you for the hands outstretched, the kindnesses extended, and well, just everything.

LauraLyn offered this bit of insight taken from Alice Hoffman’s Survival Lessons, a tiny volume of essays she wrote. Alice wanted to remind herself, as a breast cancer survivor, that in the midst of personal crisis, turmoil or trauma, that there is still beauty in the world to be explored.

Indeed there is. Let’s go for some bloggy walks to seek out that beauty, shall we.

Sunday, Sept 21, 2014

Hullo, lovely GentleWise Folk.

I took a selfie! Mostly a proof-of-life selfie, but still.

I took a selfie! Mostly a proof-of-life selfie, but still. Here is me, breathing and dressed and everything.

After writing that last post, and after reading all your supportive, lovely, and uplifting comments, I realized I needed to do a bit of navel-gazing, as self-indulgent as that might seem. The Flails were back again with a vengence, and one day, tired of being frustrated with myself, I just Hit The Wall. I closed the laptop, went outside to sit on the front porch, and began asking myself the hard questions.

You know. The HARD questions, the ones that cause some of us to lose sleep and and lay awake thinking about What It All Means and What Part of Everything Do I Want to Participate In?

My perfect cats would NEVER do this. Tim prefers to bring his half-dead mouse upstairs and plunk it down at my feet when I am sitting on the throne at 2 AM. Nice.

My perfect cats would NEVER do this. Tim, AKA the Great Northern Hunter, prefers to bring his half-dead mouse upstairs and plunk it down at my feet when I am sitting on the loo at 2 AM. Nice.

Still, sometimes you just gotta ask yourself what is important to Self. So I contemplated my at-times bejeweled belly button, and Had A Think and gave myself a wee Q&A session.

  • Why was I fighting so hard to do something that was so difficult, bringing so much Flail into my life?
  • Where had my blogging mojo gone?
  • Did I even want to continue blogging?

That last one, wow. That hurt. Stop blogging? Well, yeah, it does seem as though I’m resisting more than I’m writing. So why keep doing it? Why keep blogging?

And believe it or not, my belly button simply refused to answer any of my questions. It did not even wish to offer advice.

It just sat there. Being Navel-ish. (The nerve!)

Do I want to continue blogging?

I’ve been posting on-the internet blog entries, in one format or another, since around 1996, 1997. Before that, I kept journals, in all sorts of blank books, from the mottled black & white composition workbooks to leather-covered volumes (usually purple leather; usually embossed with faeries, trees, hobbit runes, or the ever-popular Cats. At age twelve, I predictably chose a unicorn.).

I collect blank books, spindles, stuffed animals, and children's books. Come over and play sometime.

I collect blank books, spindles, stuffed animals, and children’s books. Come over and play sometime.

I don’t remember exactly when I started writing about my life and its inhabitants, but by age eleven, I already had a whack of no-longer-blank-books lining the shelf above my bed. For a couple of years, I took to making decorative cloth covers for those black&white composition books, using my mom’s heavy grey metal stapler to attach cloth to cardboard, or else sewing the parts together with embroidery floss in the color of the week using a honkin’ big 2-inch “craft needle”. I took a batik class in sixth grade; most of my class practice pieces ended up as journal covers.

See? Even as a kid, for me, journaling was inextricably linked to craft of some sort. I pasted cards and drawings onto the pages, I sewed beads onto sparkly ribbons for bookmarks, I made those workbooks into little mixed media explorations.

In other words, I realized that I have been writing stories about myself, my interests, my inner life, and my crafting since before I could do calculus.

My new sewing machine loves to do strip piecing. Fortunately, so do I.

My new sewing machine loves to do strip piecing. Fortunately, so do I.

How does one stop doing something they’ve always done?

The answer is, of course: They don’t. If I stop writing down slices from my life, it will begin to take slices off my heart.

That’s when I started hearing objections from the Blog Demons…

But my posts are annoying.

Annoying? Yes, this is why you get dozens of supportive comments every time you post. Because you are annoying. Uh Huh.

It’s time-consuming.

Well, don’t write a tome every time you post, then.

I don’t know what to say.

And yet somehow, you always manage to say something.

I don’t tell funny stories anymore. So I’m boring.

Oh, for pete’s sake. Stop that.

I want to write, but I can’t do it on my own.

That’s what readers are for. And cats, apparently.

A Challenging Challenge

Writer’s block is normal, but hooboy does it suck. I’ve had a particularly rough patch of it this spring and summer, so methinks Measures Must Be Taken.

So here’s an Idea. See what you think….

I gather, from previous conversations with you-IRL, that many of you (being intelligent and curious beings) have Wonderings. You have Questions. Questions about me, questions about how to bind off and not have the edge curl, how to choose the right yarn for the right socks, Please-can-I-avoid-kitchener-stitch-forever-and-ever-amen, what can you knit if you live in Alabama, what about crochet, why is my studio such a peach pit, how did Tim lose his eye, how things are going with Melody and by the way, who IS Melody?

I say: Go for it. Bring on the questions. I need a little two-way interaction here to get me past my inner demons, back on the road to posting regularly again. (That’s my goal: Regular posting. Time schedule TBD.)

And my new goal to help me get started: One paragragh. One photo. One Chispa. We’ll start there and see what happens next.

My wee Origami Frog. He jumps, too. When he feels like it.

My wee Origami Frog. He jumps, too. When he feels like it.


~ I saw this one months ago, and it’s still at the top of my personal chispas list: Gentleman spins his hair into the playable strings of a violin. (Mommmeeeee,  Sharaz is playing my hair again! And she’s practicing Mozart this time. I’m BOOORRRREEEDDD of Mozart, plus the high notes bother my teeth.)

~ This artwork can only be found using Google Maps.

~ I am suddenly fascinated by origami after making a wee frog in the children’s exploraratory room in Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Mass. (I was there to see the Yin Yu Tang House, fascinating)

  1. This guy promised to fold a life-sized elephant from a single sheet of paper if his collections for charity hit a critical goal. They did, and he did.
  2. Photos and videos from an exhibit of the work of 80 origami artists. When you look at it, it is hard to believe it is all paper.
  3. Note wee teensy origami effort of mine own, above.


Obligatory Cute Animal Photo:

See the goldfish cracker on the table. Buddy sees it too. Buddy does not understand why it is not on the floor, but hanging in mid-air. Buddy does not understand glass-topped tables. We love him anyway.

See the goldfish cracker on the table. Buddy sees it too. Buddy does not understand why it is not on the floor, but hanging in mid-air. Buddy does not understand glass-topped tables. We love him anyway.

Well, my friends. That’s way more than one paragraph; but truth be told, I have been writing blog entries almost daily…I just haven’t been posting them because of the Blog Demons. I didn’t want to edit this one too severely for fear I’d never think it was good enough.

But your kindnesses have brought me out of the woodwork…thank you.

much love,

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Building blocks

Clearly, I owe y’all an apology: I did not keep my promise to post by end-of-week last week. End of LAST week, mind you.

On Flailing

I’m trying to use this seeming failure as one of those noble “teaching moments”, rather than simply reacting in my usual fashion of pulling out the baseball bat and finding not-nice things to say about myself.

This time, a few bruises and curse words later, I looked back and began to see part of a life-long pattern of what I call “flail-ures”—times when my intentions are good, I get off to a good start, something trips me up, and then I go into The Flails.

The Flails are a series of mind-games I play with myself. Writer’s Block (hipster acronym WB) reared its bumpy noggin this time, and so, cue The Flails: I use my usual tricks to break through WB, write a few paragraphs, realize they aren’t suitable for one reason or another, spend another day or so scolding myself, panicking when I realize the clock is ticking, freeze up into WB again, and ’round she goes—with creative and exciting variations! (Not.)

Kermit doing the iconic FLAIL

At some point, I realize I am going to miss my deadline, and more Flails show up: now I’ve let people down, time to bring on the shame! I avoid the keyboard for a bit so it won’t remind me of my shame, then take a big breath and put on my Big Girl Panties, write, produce something that is disconnected from my previous attempts, and then more yet Flails ensue.

Add a pinch o’ pride…

This time, the Flails were enhanced by the fact that the long gaps between postings cost me readers. It’s only numbers, I realize; I also realize that the readers who truly matter are either still here (yay! Thanks for being patient with me) or will come back as soon as they see I’m alive and posting again.

Dusty: There is a limit to this whole "creative chaos" thing, you know that, right?

Dusty: There is a limit to this whole “creative chaos” thing, you know that, right?

This taught me something (or rather, reinforced what I already knew): Blogging is, at the very least, a conversation; at its best, it is a relationship. If one party stops keeping up their end of the deal, then the other party will naturally get tired of the silence and wander off to talk with someone else.

The final nail in the coffin was, I am sorry to say, pride: A few years ago, I was one of the most-read fibre bloggers in our small pond; I had fangirls, people wanting to have their photo taken with me, even a stalker (“fangirl gone bad”, shall we say).  Now I’m not That Girl anymore. I know this sounds petty, but I didn’t realize how hard it would be to go from being a bit of a mini-celebrity to being just a face in the crowd. I see knitters whom I have mentored, encouraging them to make that first pattern submission, cheerleading as they went on to have confidence in their own visions—I’ve watched several of them grow into highly sought-after authors, designers, and teachers.

My sense of self is disrupted by all this change, not to mention  how quickly it happened. It’s hard to blog when the person at the keyboard is someone you no longer recognize.

I realized I needed to rebuild not only my own sense of self, but my sense of who I am in the fibre community.

And although I have a spinner’s heart and a knitter’s eye, it is a completely different craft which is helping me to begin to fit the pieces back together.

Building blocks

About 15-20 years ago (why yes, I was in fact eighteen, thank you for asking), I stumbled upon the travelling exhibit showcasing Amish Quilts at the San Francisco De Young Museum.

Detail of the "Flying Triangles" quilt; hand-pieced and hand-quilted by Sandi Wiseheart

Detail of the “Flying Triangles” quilt; hand-pieced and hand-quilted by Sandi Wiseheart

I went two days in a row. The second day, I sat down on one of the benches in front of two of the more stupendous quilts, and went into my happy place.

The security guard had to ask me to leave. I looked at my watch; it was at least 30 min since closing time. He shrugged and said he’d seen me the day before as well, and as this was the last day, he couldn’t bear to make me leave when I was so clearly entranced.

At the museum gift shop, I bought a package of scraps which had come from an Amish quilting group in the area where the display quilts had been made. Inside was a postcard bearing a photo and its caption. When I got home, I found the reverse side of the card bore a simple quilt pattern; the scraps were enough to make a small wall quilt with the pattern.

The finished scrap quilt, which I began in August 1989 and completed in November 1993

The finished scrap quilt, which I began in August 1989 and completed in November 1993

I’ve been a quilter since that day, taking classes, fussing with seams, etc. I took a break for about ten years while I worked for Interweave, to concentrate on knitting and spinning for The Job.

Well, guess what?

I’m Baaaaaaaaa-aaack…  :)

Trying to decide what goes where

Trying to decide what goes where

It’s just a wee quilt (those are one-inch squares), but I already love it. It’s slowly helping me to realize that I can still create beauty (which, dare I dream, might help others to go to THEIR happy places), and that I can still write, and, again hopefully, connect to others through my stories.


~ In the summer, many fortunate Canadians and Americans go off to stay in cozy cottages (Canadian term) or cabins (U.S. term), the majority of which, at least in Canada, are near one of the country’s estimated 3 million lakes (60% of all the world’s lakes are in Canada; it must be true, because Wikipedia says so). However, there are lakes….and then there are LAKES. (Methinks there’s still time to change your vacation plans, should one of these exotic locations make the family cottage seem mundane by comparison.)

~ No modern art devoteé ought to let the summer pass without attending this installation, which one might call “The Game of Thrones.”

~ You may groan. I deserved that.

Caption suggestions for this one, folks? It's so cute my brain melted.

Caption suggestions for this one, folks? It’s so cute my brain melted.

~ In light of recent post topics: If Physical Diseases Were Treated the Same as Mental Illnesses

~ I sincerely doubt that I am the only one these words will speak to today.

~ Find a friend and hold them close to your heart.

duck loves owlet


Pre-Post Pronouncement

First: I’m so grateful to have you all in my life. You are so kind.

Second: I wanted to let you know that I currently have a new PIP (Post In Progress) OTKB (On The KeyBoard).

Third: Expect the new post to be published sometime mid-week (THIS week, first week in July).

There. I am now Accountable. :)

The Chispas Who Couldn’t Resist Themselves

~ When I walk into homes with a Mom and Urchins In Residence these days, I see dozens of wee colourful rubber bands strewn from counter to carpet.

Silly me, at first I thought they were for American Doll hair fashions. Nope. I soon found out that the bands were, in fact, Components, to be used by clever Short Humans to make gifts for wandering, beloved Fake Aunties, clueless though they may be.

Bracelet One by Minions of Sir Tip; Bracelet Two by Minion of Mr. Rocco.

Bracelet One by Minions of Sir Tip; Bracelet Two by Minion of Mr. Rocco.

Ah, but now…GeekMom Strikes Back.

~ C’mon, admit it:

Somedays, we ALL feel like fluffy bunnies:





~ Finally: Please tell me this is True.

 Good People, I’ll see you later this week. Spread kindness, both to the wounded spaces within yourselves,  as well as to the hearts around you which cry for compassion.








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