This post is going to be somewhat vague (and a little weird), but I want to be up front with an issue that pops up from time to time in our industry from a business person's point of view.
I have used eBay as a way to clear excess inventory for over ten years now and have most recently started moving most of my operations (at full retail price) to eBay. (You can find me at stores.ebay.com/Shakespeares-Peddler.)
Once in a while, I hear from a distributor or designer who is upset about the way I am selling her product (whether that be on my web site or elsewhere.) It has come to my attention that some shops are complaining to at least one of my distributors about the fact I am using eBay to sell merchandise (most of this merchandise is at full retail price; certain older items, over-stocks, or otherwise less-desirable items I am offering in auctions.)
Now, one particular distributor has told me she can no longer sell to me, since I use eBay, as other shops have complained. I still have a number of this distributor's products in stock, and am using eBay to sell them, much of it at full retail price. Now, this distributor has told me I have to stop selling anything she wholesales on eBay, and she offered to purchase those items back at wholesale. (Keep in mind, I paid shipping on those items for starters, and would have to pay return shipping, which would mean I would lose money taking this offer.)
This same distributor's products are sold every day at a discount on a number of other stitching web sites. I have never personally agreed with the "everything on sale, every day" business model in our industry. Our mark-up is low compared to other industries, but that decision is each business person's to make. One of the beautiful things about being a small business owner is making your own decisions.
When I started my business 17 years ago, I faced numerous complaints from other shops (and distributors) who felt that online businesses were unfair and hurtful to the industry. However, the shops who did not get on the Internet were the first ones to go out of business. Times change, and so businesses must change, too. Stubbornly hanging onto the past would mean our malls would be filled with buggy whip outlets and top hat stores. (Well, and even then, how much longer will we have local malls?) I have found on eBay that I can reach a much larger group of stitchers world-wide, and the format makes it easier for me to fill orders by taking out a lot of the steps.
No distributor (or designer, or manufacturer) has to agree to sell wholesale (or even retail) to anyone. However, attempting to control the way a product is sold, adherence to terms of sale, limiting discounts, or agreeing to sell something at a common "retail" price is called price fixing and is punishable under the Sherman Antitrust Act, a federal offense. Anyone who would bring such a case before a court and win can collect up to three times the damages sustained, plus full compensation of legal and prosecution fees.
I guess I just wanted to let y'all know that the kind of backstage bickering that goes on sometimes in our industry is not only meddling and counter-productive, it's also misguided, uninformed and potentially illegal. Please know that I am not angry at anyone, nor do I wish anyone any harm. There are so many great shop owners, customers, distributors, designers, and manufacturers out there! And I love you guys!!!
Monday, April 15, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Sarah Chapple 1831
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| Look at all of the great little plants tucked here and there on the lawn! |
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| Sarah's signature ... what a girl! |
Can you believe this wonderful girl was only 11 years old when she stitched this sampler? There are over 42,000 stitches in this one. Way to go, Sarah! She was a diligent stitcher. This one was tricky to graph, because there were sections of her stitching where a lot of the stitches were off by one thread this way and that way and the other way, so I was constantly having to make adjustments. The back of the sampler is way neater than anything I ever stitch, and most of the verse is stitched over-one on FORTY-EIGHT COUNT LINEN. I suspect she may have had super powers in order to see those tiny little stitches.
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| Sarah Chapple 1831 |
Here is the verse:
On Isaiah c. 40th v. 8th
And is it so that to life's journey's end
God still will prove my Father and my Friend,
To all my weakness still will bend his ear,
And my most feeble accents deign to hear?
Sweet truth _ the fading flower that blooms today,
May ere to_morrows dawn, have passed away.
The grass may wither, and the flower may fade.
Our brightest hope be wrapp'd in deepest shade,
"But God's own word for ever shall endure,"
It stands to all eternity secure!.
Sarah ChappleMatching the fabric was tricky. It's definitely a natural linen, 48 count, like I said, but it's got that 200-year-old grime thing going on. It's not DIRTY, but it's not CLEAN, you know what I mean? I actually have given stitchers a few options: 40 ct. 18th Century Rook by R&R Reproductions is my top pick, but you can also use 40 count Natural or 40 count Dirty linen by Zweigart. Coffee-, tea-, or walnut-dyeing these fabrics before you stitch will give the fabric a more authentically grungy look. The fabric has a definite greenish-cast to it. The stitch count is 301 by 407. Here are the FINISHED sizes, depending on the count of linen you're working on:
Her Work
Aged 11 Years
1831
28 count: 21 1/2" by 29"Here is the fiber list. There are a number of colors of which you'll need multiple skeins, and that information is here as well. All stitching is done with one strand, if you're working on 40 count.
32 count: 18 3/4" by 25 1/2"
36 count: 16 3/4" by 22 1/2"
40 count: 15" by 20 1/4"
Au ver a Soie: 2212, 3724, 3745 (2), 4525 (3)
Needlepoint Silk: 333, 336, 505 (3), 976
Gloriana: Elizabethan Green (2), Holly Berry, Spanish Moss (2), Vanilla
Silk N Colours (The Thread Gatherer): Linsey Woolsey (2)
The Sarah Chapple 1831 reproduction chart is $25.00. There are a few ways you can get a hold of this graph. The quickest/easiest way is through my eBay store. Click on this listing: cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=290896957450. You can also order by e-mail: xspeddler@yahoo.com. Or, have your local shop order it through Hoffman Distributing or Norden Crafts (both will have their copies in the next week).
You can also order the silks set ($113.00) or the fabric ($50.00 for a half yard of 40 count 18th Century Rook or $38.00 for a fat half of 40 count Natural or Dirty Newcastle linen).
Anyway, I hope you like Sarah's sampler. I really do! I purchased another new/old/antique one this week from eBay, and I think that's going to be a secret, too. Secrets can be fun, I'm learning!
Friday, April 5, 2013
Cross Stitch Camp in Kansas
Last week, I was contacted by Heart's Desire and told that it was not going to work out to fly me in for camp later this month. I didn't want y'all to think I backed out on you -- I was set to go. Debbie did offer to buy the class kits to teach at the retreat, but that's not something I'm comfortable doing, and so I'll save the project for either another retreat or release the project as a chart pack/instructions sometime down the road.
To those of you who are going, I hope you have a great time, and I'll be thinking of you. :)
To those of you who are going, I hope you have a great time, and I'll be thinking of you. :)
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Ann Womack finish and shelter news update
March was crazy. The good news is, my jeans are fitting a little bit looser and I made it through.
I've had some questions about how things are going at the shelter with the dogs we rescued from Stone County a few weeks ago. Number 76, my favorite (above), had to be put to sleep, as she had breast cancer. Southern Pines Animal Shelter took in a lot of the dogs that were in the roughest shape (we got the last ones that were pulled from the house and yard, so they were the ones hardest to catch and least socialized.) But, I think so far, about 15 had to be put to sleep, due to aggression and health. We sent out another dozen or so on a transport to a rehabilitation program in Sarasota, Florida. And we have another dozen-plus left at the shelter and in foster care.
One of the dogs we took in had puppies the day after rescue. They are all well. And our remaining dogs are starting to act more like ... well, dogs. They play, run, bark and sleep SO soundly. Each dog is starting the healing process.
Shirley Gai, an area woman with a past history of hoarding behavior, turned herself into authorities the day after our rescue, and was released on bail. She relinquished the dogs to the shelters, which made things much easier for us in terms of rehabilitation and medical treatment. Her attorney has said she is anxious to move forward, and I am hoping that she gets into some kind of treatment program to help her with her mental health.
I'm hoping this month will seem a lot more "normal." Believe it or not, I am still working on a reproduction, and hope to get to other designs this weekend. I continue to put in many hours at the shelter helping with facility improvement, crisis management, bookwork, and just the day-to-day stuff. I will have a preliminary interview this Thursday or Friday, and hope to know soon what the future holds for me. Wish me luck!
I'm updating today, because I need to, and because Bonnie O. sent me a wonderful photograph of Ann Womack, which she just got back from the frame shop. She stitched it on 40 count Confederate Grey by Weeks Dye Works with DMC floss 3857. Didn't she do a great job? I love seeing these finishes! If you've got a recent finish of a pattern of mine, e-mail me a picture to xspeddler@yahoo.com. I'd love to post your handiwork.
One of the dogs we took in had puppies the day after rescue. They are all well. And our remaining dogs are starting to act more like ... well, dogs. They play, run, bark and sleep SO soundly. Each dog is starting the healing process.
Shirley Gai, an area woman with a past history of hoarding behavior, turned herself into authorities the day after our rescue, and was released on bail. She relinquished the dogs to the shelters, which made things much easier for us in terms of rehabilitation and medical treatment. Her attorney has said she is anxious to move forward, and I am hoping that she gets into some kind of treatment program to help her with her mental health.
I'm hoping this month will seem a lot more "normal." Believe it or not, I am still working on a reproduction, and hope to get to other designs this weekend. I continue to put in many hours at the shelter helping with facility improvement, crisis management, bookwork, and just the day-to-day stuff. I will have a preliminary interview this Thursday or Friday, and hope to know soon what the future holds for me. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Wildflowers
No puppies. We pulled 117 dogs (a number of them lactating) out of that trailer and yard, and didn't find one puppy. Word from the neighbors was that the dogs' owner would show up every once in a while to dump down a bag or two of food. But when there's not enough to eat, and over a hundred dogs need to be fed, they inevitably start eating each other.
A few dozen of us congregated early Tuesday and listened to instructions at the local sheriff's department. Some of us were volunteers, others were local shelter staff and trained rescue organizers. Law enforcement accompanied us out to protect us from the person who should have been protecting her dogs. Throughout the day, one of our number would shake her head and wonder aloud: how? How had it come to this?
"This" was a four-letter word we grappled with for almost 12 hours.
"This" meant a year-old double-wide trailer bought to house dogs that I'm sure were rescues, of a sort, and the obvious mental break that happens when someone's good intentions go horribly awry and love turns crazy.
"This" was an enormous yard, newly fenced, six feet high, meant to keep in the dogs she thought she was protecting. A yard devoid of grass or flowers, littered with bed springs, blankets ripped to shreds, empty cans, trash. No food. No water.
"This" was a smell so severe, so nasty and vile, that law enforcement officers gagged and spat at the far end of the lawn. The odor hung like an aura for at least a few dozen feet from the house, a sickening combination of rotting meat, diarrhea, molasses (maybe licorice?), decaying vegetation, dirty dog, earth and piss.
"This" meant fear, and hunger, and illness. Fleas, scabs, sores, blood, urine and feces, bite scars, open wounds, wild eyes. Toenails yellowed, twisted, and so long they pointed in different directions. Saggy leathery nipples. The dogs' skin was in such bad shape that many of them looked like hyenas, nearly hairless save little patches here and there. For cataloging purposes, veterinarians had to guess at the color of some of the dogs. Occasionally, a fight would break out, the sound like a drum set tossed down a long flight of stairs. The snapping, yelping and growling of those about to be saved.
Neighbors across the street pulled out lawn chairs. The beautiful country setting glared in stark contrast to the suffering of those dogs. With lush pink azaleas in view, the first of the dogs were pulled out of the house around ten. One was dead. Another had to be put to sleep immediately. One neighbor tilled his soil for a vegetable garden. A dog's head and a number of bones were pulled from the house to be used as evidence.
We counted four flat-screen TV's inside, one of them at least 50 inches, furniture that had been beautiful at one point. "Hey," I said, while walking through the kitchen. "I've got that same Crock-Pot." We laughed a little. That Crock-Pot was sitting on the floor of a kitchen covered in the bodily fluids of over a hundred dogs. The urine in the house had created an ammonia haze so thick, that even though we wore masks coated on the inside with menthol rub, our eyes watered and stung. "Let me get your picture," one rescuer said. A few of us posed there amid the filth and ruin, and one of our number asked: "Are we supposed to smile?"
As the day wore on, the dogs became harder to catch. The first ones out were those too sick to fight or still friendly despite their surroundings. After the house was mostly cleared, we had to start bringing in the dogs from the back yard. They circled in giant loops, barking, hiding in holes they had dug. One woman swung a bent curtain rod over her head in circles as she walked the perimeter of the fence, which drove some dogs to the "sanctuary" of the house. After half a dozen had rushed in, one of us would lean up against the back door to keep the dogs inside, so they could be cornered and captured. When all but the last 30 or so were crated and transported, animal control officers came in to grab the rest. Using poles fitted with wire loops, they brought out dog-after-dog on the ends of those poles. The animals twisted and snapped. Some bit their tongues and bled on their emancipators.
As each dog was placed in a crate, sometimes two or three at a time, a quiet calm would settle on him. The worst was over. Some napped, some whined a little or howled occasionally. A few wagged their tails. These little pockets of peace floated down throughout the day. Kind words softly spoken. Cigarette breaks peppered with good-natured teasing. Hand shakes and smiles between two new comrades-in-arms. Compliments, thank-you's, small offerings of water or crackers, and the knowledge that we were all there together with the same spirit of love and giving.
As the last few dogs were loaded into vans, trucks, and a horse trailer, one of our number said she wanted to check out some garbage bags at the front of the lawn. The neighbors reported the homeowner had been home at one point and carried out heavy-looking black lawn bags from the home, maybe twenty of them. A lot of it looked like trash. But we suspected worse.
I offered to help go through the trash and was told it could be bad. Really bad. I didn't want her to have to look through that garbage by herself. We armed ourselves with sticks and poked through a few bags. Mostly cans and household rubbish. Inside several of the trash bags, we could see large dog food bags which, upon inspection, seemed unusually heavy. I opened one dog food bag and saw a flash of fur, a scurry of white maggots, shiny wet muscle and a foot. She had put dead dogs in the empty dog food bags. The second one was worse. What was left of the dog sloshed inside the bag as I moved it and the smell made me turn away and violently gag.
Pictures were snapped and our remaining crew members stood around dumb-founded. After bravely holding open bags of dead dogs for photographing, the woman I had gone to help told me she needed to go back to her vehicle and cry for a bit. I went and sat by a crated female dog that I checked up on throughout the day. Number 76. A nondescript blackish, brownish girl with crusty skin, fleas, curled toenails and clear chocolate-colored eyes. I talked to her and sang to her. I told her about how much better her life would get. She just listened and looked.
We picked up our empty water bottles and potato chip wrappers, folded up a big blue tarp that had hidden the bodies of the deceased, put away the Band-Aids, pens, stethoscopes, cameras and leashes. We poked fun at each others' sunburned cheeks and how much we stank and joked about the cigarettes or beer we'd need at home. I took two crated dogs in my car back to the shelter: numbers 76 and 109. They scratched and shook their way through the first few turns out of their old neighborhood, but a few miles down the road, their heads started bobbing, and they closed their eyes. I played Tom Petty's "Wildflowers" for them, a hopeful lullaby on the way to shelter:
*****
Some of these animals will be put to sleep today. That decision is not made lightly but is based on the physical suffering of that dog or the danger it poses to those who would care for it. The majority of them will be patched and soothed, rehabilitated and placed into loving homes, pending the outcome of the legal issues. Last night, Southern Pines Animal Shelter took in about 60 of these dogs, one of which only had three legs, and gave them respite on cool green grass with food and clean water, dog treats, head scratches, and sweet spoken "good nights."
People tend to rally around events like this one. Some get angry at the owner of the dogs...some become angry with the rescuers and law enforcement. And this story is sad, for sure. But the sad part of the story is over for these 117. Today their bellies are full and they will start to receive the medical attention they need. More appropriate now is concern for the animals out there that have not been rescued yet. They are out there and so desperate that they're eating each other.
You can help! Even if you aren't in a position to physically assist in rescue operations, you can donate monetarily to the local organizations that every day help neglected, unwanted, lost and abandoned animals. It costs about a half a million dollars a year to operate Southern Pines Animal Shelter (a non-profit organization that took in 5,000 animals in 2012) and most of that money comes from donations. Without donations, we could not remain open and we would not have been able to send vans, experienced employees and volunteers, and supplies to help with this rescue operation. We would not have the facility to house and care for sixty dogs this week. Donate to Southern Pines Animal Shelter by visiting our web site at www.southernpinesanimalshelter.org. We are being financially assisted by the Humane Society of the United States for this particular rescue, but we continue to need financial support to keep our doors open for next time.
A few dozen of us congregated early Tuesday and listened to instructions at the local sheriff's department. Some of us were volunteers, others were local shelter staff and trained rescue organizers. Law enforcement accompanied us out to protect us from the person who should have been protecting her dogs. Throughout the day, one of our number would shake her head and wonder aloud: how? How had it come to this?
"This" was a four-letter word we grappled with for almost 12 hours.
"This" meant a year-old double-wide trailer bought to house dogs that I'm sure were rescues, of a sort, and the obvious mental break that happens when someone's good intentions go horribly awry and love turns crazy.
"This" was an enormous yard, newly fenced, six feet high, meant to keep in the dogs she thought she was protecting. A yard devoid of grass or flowers, littered with bed springs, blankets ripped to shreds, empty cans, trash. No food. No water.
"This" was a smell so severe, so nasty and vile, that law enforcement officers gagged and spat at the far end of the lawn. The odor hung like an aura for at least a few dozen feet from the house, a sickening combination of rotting meat, diarrhea, molasses (maybe licorice?), decaying vegetation, dirty dog, earth and piss.
"This" meant fear, and hunger, and illness. Fleas, scabs, sores, blood, urine and feces, bite scars, open wounds, wild eyes. Toenails yellowed, twisted, and so long they pointed in different directions. Saggy leathery nipples. The dogs' skin was in such bad shape that many of them looked like hyenas, nearly hairless save little patches here and there. For cataloging purposes, veterinarians had to guess at the color of some of the dogs. Occasionally, a fight would break out, the sound like a drum set tossed down a long flight of stairs. The snapping, yelping and growling of those about to be saved.
Neighbors across the street pulled out lawn chairs. The beautiful country setting glared in stark contrast to the suffering of those dogs. With lush pink azaleas in view, the first of the dogs were pulled out of the house around ten. One was dead. Another had to be put to sleep immediately. One neighbor tilled his soil for a vegetable garden. A dog's head and a number of bones were pulled from the house to be used as evidence.
We counted four flat-screen TV's inside, one of them at least 50 inches, furniture that had been beautiful at one point. "Hey," I said, while walking through the kitchen. "I've got that same Crock-Pot." We laughed a little. That Crock-Pot was sitting on the floor of a kitchen covered in the bodily fluids of over a hundred dogs. The urine in the house had created an ammonia haze so thick, that even though we wore masks coated on the inside with menthol rub, our eyes watered and stung. "Let me get your picture," one rescuer said. A few of us posed there amid the filth and ruin, and one of our number asked: "Are we supposed to smile?"
As the day wore on, the dogs became harder to catch. The first ones out were those too sick to fight or still friendly despite their surroundings. After the house was mostly cleared, we had to start bringing in the dogs from the back yard. They circled in giant loops, barking, hiding in holes they had dug. One woman swung a bent curtain rod over her head in circles as she walked the perimeter of the fence, which drove some dogs to the "sanctuary" of the house. After half a dozen had rushed in, one of us would lean up against the back door to keep the dogs inside, so they could be cornered and captured. When all but the last 30 or so were crated and transported, animal control officers came in to grab the rest. Using poles fitted with wire loops, they brought out dog-after-dog on the ends of those poles. The animals twisted and snapped. Some bit their tongues and bled on their emancipators.
As each dog was placed in a crate, sometimes two or three at a time, a quiet calm would settle on him. The worst was over. Some napped, some whined a little or howled occasionally. A few wagged their tails. These little pockets of peace floated down throughout the day. Kind words softly spoken. Cigarette breaks peppered with good-natured teasing. Hand shakes and smiles between two new comrades-in-arms. Compliments, thank-you's, small offerings of water or crackers, and the knowledge that we were all there together with the same spirit of love and giving.
As the last few dogs were loaded into vans, trucks, and a horse trailer, one of our number said she wanted to check out some garbage bags at the front of the lawn. The neighbors reported the homeowner had been home at one point and carried out heavy-looking black lawn bags from the home, maybe twenty of them. A lot of it looked like trash. But we suspected worse.
I offered to help go through the trash and was told it could be bad. Really bad. I didn't want her to have to look through that garbage by herself. We armed ourselves with sticks and poked through a few bags. Mostly cans and household rubbish. Inside several of the trash bags, we could see large dog food bags which, upon inspection, seemed unusually heavy. I opened one dog food bag and saw a flash of fur, a scurry of white maggots, shiny wet muscle and a foot. She had put dead dogs in the empty dog food bags. The second one was worse. What was left of the dog sloshed inside the bag as I moved it and the smell made me turn away and violently gag.
Pictures were snapped and our remaining crew members stood around dumb-founded. After bravely holding open bags of dead dogs for photographing, the woman I had gone to help told me she needed to go back to her vehicle and cry for a bit. I went and sat by a crated female dog that I checked up on throughout the day. Number 76. A nondescript blackish, brownish girl with crusty skin, fleas, curled toenails and clear chocolate-colored eyes. I talked to her and sang to her. I told her about how much better her life would get. She just listened and looked.
We picked up our empty water bottles and potato chip wrappers, folded up a big blue tarp that had hidden the bodies of the deceased, put away the Band-Aids, pens, stethoscopes, cameras and leashes. We poked fun at each others' sunburned cheeks and how much we stank and joked about the cigarettes or beer we'd need at home. I took two crated dogs in my car back to the shelter: numbers 76 and 109. They scratched and shook their way through the first few turns out of their old neighborhood, but a few miles down the road, their heads started bobbing, and they closed their eyes. I played Tom Petty's "Wildflowers" for them, a hopeful lullaby on the way to shelter:
You belong among the wildflowers.
You belong in a boat out at sea.
Sail away, kill off the hours.
You belong somewhere you feel free.
*****
Some of these animals will be put to sleep today. That decision is not made lightly but is based on the physical suffering of that dog or the danger it poses to those who would care for it. The majority of them will be patched and soothed, rehabilitated and placed into loving homes, pending the outcome of the legal issues. Last night, Southern Pines Animal Shelter took in about 60 of these dogs, one of which only had three legs, and gave them respite on cool green grass with food and clean water, dog treats, head scratches, and sweet spoken "good nights."
People tend to rally around events like this one. Some get angry at the owner of the dogs...some become angry with the rescuers and law enforcement. And this story is sad, for sure. But the sad part of the story is over for these 117. Today their bellies are full and they will start to receive the medical attention they need. More appropriate now is concern for the animals out there that have not been rescued yet. They are out there and so desperate that they're eating each other.
You can help! Even if you aren't in a position to physically assist in rescue operations, you can donate monetarily to the local organizations that every day help neglected, unwanted, lost and abandoned animals. It costs about a half a million dollars a year to operate Southern Pines Animal Shelter (a non-profit organization that took in 5,000 animals in 2012) and most of that money comes from donations. Without donations, we could not remain open and we would not have been able to send vans, experienced employees and volunteers, and supplies to help with this rescue operation. We would not have the facility to house and care for sixty dogs this week. Donate to Southern Pines Animal Shelter by visiting our web site at www.southernpinesanimalshelter.org. We are being financially assisted by the Humane Society of the United States for this particular rescue, but we continue to need financial support to keep our doors open for next time.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
And the times, they are a changin'
The past few weeks, I've been spending a lot of time at Southern Pines Animal Shelter...well, more time than usual. Which is a lot. We've been delivering food and supplies to the community families and their pets that were most affected by the F-4 tornado that went through town three weeks ago. You can see Steve and me in this picture in the middle on the left hand side of the picture.
More and more, I feel my heart being tugged by the shelter, its staff, volunteers and of course the animals. This week, I will be serving at the interim shelter manager, a position that was vacated a few weeks ago when our manager left to run a larger facility in Atlanta. For the past four or five years, I have devoted more and more of my time and resources to SPAS, and have done everything from pick up poop and bathe flea-infested babies to serve on committees and the board, including assisting with crisis management and offering advice to volunteers, staff members, management and the board.
I will be applying for the shelter manager position in a week, as I want to see how this coming week goes. What that means for Shakespeare's Peddler is uncertain right now. I am working on moving more and more of my business to my eBay store, which makes it easier for me to fulfill orders by taking out a lot of the steps. If I am hired for this position, I will continue to design and use eBay to sell some needlework supplies.
I've been working in the industry for 17 years, and although I dearly love my customers, distributors, designer friends, and all the rest, I see such a need in my community for more help for the animals and community members who support and work for our shelter. I will let you know more as I know more.
In the meantime, we've had a topsy-turvy foster month. I lost two kittens to a terrible stomach virus in February. I took in four from this litter. They were covered in fleas (and in fact were anemic) when I picked them up at the shelter. And they were very sick. Two of them suffered greatly, and the infection was too great for them to battle. But I have put up pictures of the two that remain: Muffin (above) and Claire (below). I have never seen two kittens SO close to each other as these two. They are always within about four feet of each other. They are funny little girls, and I am hoping I can find them a home together.
I hope you all are doing well and are happy. I feel very happy about the possible changes in my life, and have even had a hard time sleeping at night. There is a lot for me to think about, and it may be time for me to re-invent myself. I hope I have your support!
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Super-Quick Check-In
Nashville is this weekend -- no, I'm not going. Can I tell you how much I am glad not to be going? I will totally miss seeing all of my industry buddies, but with the tornado here two weeks ago, and some changes going on at Southern Pines Animal Shelter, and two kittens to foster, I've been running myself ragged helping out hither and thither.
I do have one release for this weekend. More is on the way. Rather than release it all at once, I'm going to do so slowly. It's much less stress on me. And in that theme, let me present my new piece, "Let There Be Peace."
It's stitched on 32 count Natural Belfast linen with a limited edition pack of The Gentle Art Sampler Threads that will be available at market this weekend (or by order, if there are packs left.) I used a few specialty stitches, but the entire thing can be stitched in regular cross stitch, too. I think it's a nice sentiment.
I had to put down two kittens in the last week and a half -- terrible stomach bug, and trust me, you do not want to know the details. Poor dearies. I've still got two, though, and they are doing well -- getting big and fat, shiny black coats, scampering feet and beautiful little whiskered faces. Will post pictures soon.
I do have one release for this weekend. More is on the way. Rather than release it all at once, I'm going to do so slowly. It's much less stress on me. And in that theme, let me present my new piece, "Let There Be Peace."
I had to put down two kittens in the last week and a half -- terrible stomach bug, and trust me, you do not want to know the details. Poor dearies. I've still got two, though, and they are doing well -- getting big and fat, shiny black coats, scampering feet and beautiful little whiskered faces. Will post pictures soon.
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