November 22, 2004

• A Very, Very Extraordinary Weekend

  I didn’t post that
  headline lightly.  Over the course of my life, I have been
  blessed with quite a number of extraordinary weekends, and weeks, or
  just plain moments.   Like the time I really pissed off Isaac
  Asimov.  Like the honeymoon I spent in England, seeing plays and
  going to Stonehenge while tripping on LSD.  Like the time I
  totalled my Porsche and walked away from it.  The time I got bored
  and went to Iceland for the weekend–didn’t know what I was seeing on
  the tour bus, as the tour guides were all on strike and the driver
  wasn’t allowed by union regs to say anything.  Then there was the
  time I had sex with a progeriatric dwarf.  While her six-foot
  husband watched.  At a Mensa convention.  Good times, 
  But I digress.  This past weekend goes right up near the top of
  the list.

  I knew it would be special well in
  advance.  Normally in the winter,  when I do a show on the
  weekend I need to take a week off to recover.  This weekend,
  I had two shows back to back.  My schedule:  Friday night,
  drive to the Willow Community Center to set up.  Saturday morning,
  drive there and do the show; Saturday night, take everything down and
  load my car up, go home and take out the stuff I won’t need for the
  Sunday show, and load up the stuff I will need–like three tables and a
  chair.  Sunday morning, drive to the Big Lakes Lions
  Club sale at the Big Lake Mall; Sunday night, pack up the car again,
  come home and collapse. Well, I did it.  And some extraordinary
  things happened each show.

  Good stuff:  I did much better
  financially at Willow than usual, thanks to new merchandise–swords,
  battle-axes, vintage jewelry from the 50′s, various other antiques and
  collectables.  One sweet old lady forked over $149.00 for a set of
  samurai swords for her lucky grandson.  Another guy gave me $69
  for a set of battle-axes for his sons.  And I made over $50
  selling stuff that hadn’t cost me anything, stuff that was given to me
  or that I fished out of the dumpster behind my cabin.  But that’s
  another blog.  Then there was the food, which is always
  good.  This time, I got a bowl of halibut chowder to die for and a
  big hunk of fresh-baked bread–for $3.

  I always look to barter with other
  boothies, and one stand had some pyrite crystal clusters that were the
  best I had ever seen, priced well below normal retail.  I asked if
  they did any trade or gave discounts to other dealers.  The woman
  looked rueful, said sorry, the stand was being run by a woman’s service
  club.  I spent a long time looking at the pyrite, bought a great
  cluster for $10–I would have charged at least twice that for it. 
  Later in the day, I noticed smaller clusters that I would charge $5
  each for–they wanted 50 cents each, so I got eight.  Still later
  when I went back again, the woman in charge asked if I would be
  interested in buying all they  had.  She showed me this flat
  full of awesome clusters and some chunks, maybe sixty pounds or
  so.  I gulped, said I’d get back to them.  Later, I made my
  low-ball offer, just high enough to not be insulting, low enough to
  allow for some extended dickering.  They took my first
  offer.  My entire food prep space plus the cover over the cat
  litter box is now covered with pyrite crystals.

  One small off note:  I hate music at
  shows, especially at holiday season.  I pretty much hate Christmas
  carols.  This time, they kept the PA system turned off, for which
  I was profoundly grateful.  But the kid in a neighboring booth
  brought along his fiddle to play.  Or rather, practice, played the
  same thing over and over and over again.  Finally I could stand no
  more of this musical Chinese water torture, approached him and asked if
  he took requests.  His little face lit up, and the skinny towhead
  thought and said well, it depends if he knew that song. I said “Tell
  you what.  I’ll give you a dollar if you will just put that thing
  away.”  His face fell.  He picked it up, and demurred. 
  I upped the ante to two dollars.  A nearby boothie who had also
  been treated to his improptu concert advised him to hold out for
  twenty–later in the day, I probably would have paid that much,
  too.  He just shook his little head, and I stalked off, muttering
  imprecations and thinking about how I might improvise earplugs. 
  He held off the rest of the day, however.

  The next day I woke up bright and early
  and tired.  Okay, it was really dark, but it WAS early.  I
  had the car all ready, having moved the tables and chair and stuff all
  around the night before.  Drove carefully to Big Lake–the weather
  had been awful all weekend, did most of my hundreds of miles driving on
  black ice, slush and through rain, snow or sleet.  Got to the
  mall, found my space and–wahoo!  They gave me space number one,
  the best one available, right between two entrances and next to the
  supermarket.  While setting up, a major Lion came by and told me
  that the next space was free, so I got two spaces for the price of
  one.  Heaven!  I sold and sold and sold, giving discounts on
  discounts, button-holing passers-by, making “special” deals with other
  boothies and volunteers–”special” meaning that I only made a big
  profit as opposed to my usual obscene profit.  When the day was
  done, I was literally about ready to fall down.  I reeled and
  stumbled like an old tosspot, but I made it home okay.  Little did
  I know that the best was yet to come.

  Silky seemed especially glad to see
  me.  While I was reading the paper, she jumped up in my lap, got
  under the paper, and nosed my cap off (when I got home, I was too tired
  to deal with my hat and coat, just left them on).  She demanded
  lots more attention and pets that usual.  I figured she was glad
  to see me.  Then she got into one of the big boxes of knives under
  the bed and started shredding boxes.  She has done this before, I
  figured she was just beiong frisky, so I got her out, scolded her, and
  taped the box shut.  Then she managed to get through the tape and
  got stuck in the box.  I was really pissed, dragged her out, and
  wrapped a sheet around the box.  A little later, I heard another
  noise under the bed and saw all this blood on one of the big boxes
  holding a set of saamuroi swords!  OMG!  WTF!! I saw her head
  poking out of another box, this one containing a bunch of Buck utility
  knives, unsheathed and sharp as hell, and I thought she had cut
  herself.  I pulled the box out, and there was Silky and this
  little furry sausage-thing.  She had a kitten!  This was
  great–her pregnancy had been interminable, over three months.  We
  figured she wasn’t gonna deliver and would resorb the kittens. 
  This happens sometimes, but there can be complications–like
  death.  So I apologized to my sweet Silky cat profusely, and
  called Kathy asking what to do–move them to the birthing basket I had
  set up months ago, just leave them alone, try to get some soft cloth in
  that box, what?  She was still up fortunately, as was Doug, so I
  got plenty of good advice.  I slipped some shirts in, and slipped
  some knives out, and all seemed well.

  This morning when I got up, there were
  two more kittens!  Woo hoo!  Then I went out for a while,
  came back and saw–kitten number four.  The last one is a little
  guy.  At first it was so still, I thought it was dead, but it
  finally stirred.  But I am so happy, I am just walking on
  air.  All four are striped, more or less monochromatic, white and
  various shades of gray.  The oldest in the darkest, the middle two
  are medium-gray, and the smallest is light gray.

  Stay tuned for blogs of heart-warming kitten antics!

  Life is good.

  • 6:00 pm
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