My voice is gone . . .
Three days of selling handmade fibery creations, doing demos, chatting with folks, showing people how yarn is made, explaining what I’m angry about (social injustice, global warming, lipstick on dogs, the abuse of handknits . . .) and my voice has been reduced to one squeaky whisper. The Renaissance Guy has dumped a cup of tea down my throat, and has the kettle on for a second one. The dog is glad we’re back.
We’re tired, but no worse for the wear. The weather was beautiful, and we had this great lilac bush in bloom right behind the canopy that provided shade and little poofs of lilac goodness when the breeze blew just right. There’s this great joy in watching someone fall in love with something you’ve created. Friday, a young woman came into the tent, and looked for a long time at the amulet bags I knit. She came back three times, each time touching the different bags with great care, but coming to rest on the same one. It was cool to see her eyes light up, once she’d decided, and took the bag down from its hook, and brought it to me with a grin.
It’s those kind of moments that creators really appreciate and look forward to, as we work on our art — the moment when someone likes our work as much (sometimes more!) than we do.
Thanks, Spokane.