Toast.

I am going to be completely honest with you here. I am burnt. And crispy. Like toast. Burnt, crispy, toast. Or bacon. Overdone. Uncomfortably crunchy. No, let’s go with toast. I like toast. I don’t care so much for the bacon. I am toast.

It’s been a busy three or four weeks around here. Traveling, birthdaying, premiering, Felt Clubbing, and having a cold has taken it out of me. Add on the poor air quality due to the fires and I am left a crispy outer shell with very little inside. But you know what? I am left, and my home is intact (messy, but intact) and all my people are ok, so I guess being burnt out, is a lot better than some of the alternatives around here right now.

Felt Club was good. I think we were pretty successful. We always get nice people visiting us and this time was no exception. And hey, there were also people we sort of know. Friends and internet buddies stopped by and that was lovely. I bought stuff that I don’t need but want anyway and that too was lovely. An adorable “soap dish” that is destined to become a display stand for the perfect cupcake, a very excellent print of a bat, a charming watercolor, a nice little bag…probably some other things that I am not remembering. It was big and it was loud and it was crowded and it was fun but on top of everything else, it was pretty exhausting.

And besides that, I had, AGAIN, this weird blushing problem. See, I am pretty shy. I do blush quite a lot when I have to talk to strangers but usually, it’s like, in a classroom situation, or being singled out from a crowd, which I guess is not really that strange, right? That’s a normal reponse, to blush when put on the spot. But here, it happened twice, no…three times during conversations that I instigated. And when I blush, I get really embarrassed. Which is kind of the opposite of how it’s supposed to work, right? But yet again, while talking to a very pleasant artist that I am fond of, I felt my cheeks flare red and I hightailed it out of there. And again when I spoke to a handbag designer and yet again while talking to a cartoonist. Now, partially I can say that I get bashful because these people are good at what they do and I feel a wee bit tiny next to them, but you know, I feel a wee bit tiny next to pretty much everyone, so…I don’t know. Any one have any ideas on combating that creeping flush?

Anyway, now it’s on to one more craft show, this one a smaller deal, but a very nice one, I am looking forward to that. And there’s a little bit of work to be done for it, but nothing too scary. And there’s thanksgiving. Which I thought was two weeks away. And I was wrong. So…yeah. And apparently I am cooking for all of you, so I guess I need to go shopping. And for the record, we usually have Pilsbury orange rolls from a tube for Thanksgiving breakfast. Years ago I would make beautiful cinnamon rolls or muffins or something lovely and take it to my girlfriend’s house. We would eat sweets and drink coffee and go off to our alma mater’s football game and it was a lovely tradition. Until her husband said “Wow, these are good cinnamon rolls, way better than yours, honey.” Thus ended the Thanksgiving breakfast…well and I moved away so…you know. But it’s orange rolls this year, so come early if you are into that (Brenda).