Monday, June 5, 2017

Packed not packed

"I am memory and stillness, I am lonely in old age
I am not your destination, I am clinging to my ways
I am a town."

As conflicted as I am about moving, packing has become an addiction.

Getting started has always been the hardest part for me.

My bead collection is packed, every bead tissue wrapped and tucked into plastic shoebox sized containers which were then placed in sturdy file boxes and stabilized with filler items.

It's a lot like doing a puzzle, finding things the right size and shape to fit in the boxes and provide insulation.

A lot of my glass is packed that way too, bubble wrapped, in stacking trays that just fit into the file boxes with room on the side for miscellaneous lightweight buffer items.

I'll be packing a lot of sweaters, pillows, towels and other soft stuff to keep my glass safe and whole.

I've worked through at least 75 percent of my glass stash to the extent that it's washed and bundled but not yet all boxed. Some is queued up to be sold.

I've already sold dozens of pounds of glass. I've gone through at least 20 cubic feet of packing peanuts and scores of boxes, rolls and rolls of bubble wrap and shrink wrap.

Beads sales have been slow but steady sales of glass have compensated in terms of cash flow and constant trips to the post office.

For the most part I'm not losing any money on the glass. I price it at a price that if it sells it sells and if not I get to keep it so I really don't care. Mostly it sells.

I'm probably not making much of a profit, when you take into account PayPal fees and all the costs of shipping, but I don't need all the glass I have, the cost is sunk, and I know I got some pretty good deals on some of it, so even selling production colors for the going rate is probably not a loss for me.

I need to push through the last 25 percent of my glass, but I've turned my attention to my frit stash for the time being. So far I'm just selling frit I've accumulated from vendors over the years.

I'm not yet sure what I'm doing with my frit business, especially the raw materials for my own blends. Part of me is tempted to shut down the frit business and sell off the colors I use to mix my blends. I've toyed with trying to sell the recipes or the business itself, but it's called Elizabeth Beads Frit and I wouldn't want anyone doing a rubbish job of keeping it keeping on.

The alternative is to put some time and attention into it. I need to make new sample beads and take better photos for all 24 blends. I need to reorder single colors for the blend I am out of stock on. I need to create a Facebook group to promote and sell my blends.

At the beginning I had so much enthusiasm for the business, experimenting and coming up with new blends, but somehow I lost my mojo for frit. I don't love making frit beads the way I love making dot beads, for instance. This summer, especially once I have to shut down the torch, would be a good time to put a little effort into marketing my brand. If I set myself the task of at least making test beads for the blends before I close down the hot shop, I can work on the rest, at least until I have to pack my camera and computer.

It's a good plan and I'm mulling it over.

Beads of Courage ordered another hundred pairs of beads from me and I've already got most of them done or pulled from inventory. I'm just waiting a bit longer to send them as I haven't yet been paid for the 130 bead pairs I mailed on April 28. BOC is always slow to pay and often I have to remind them. April 9 will be six weeks, I'll plan to ask then.

In the meantime, we're living in boxland here. Neil has been packing just about everything that isn't nailed down or clearly mine. If it's mine he asks first. Usually. I'm clinging to keeping a few things in place so it still feels like home or something like home.

We got some new photos of the house from the lender and not much has happened since we were there except that more bricks have been applied. Damn, I really do love the brick color.

It makes me happy that it looks less like the house will be done early and more like our mid-August closing date might slip.

I know at some point it's probably better to get the move behind us and put an end to the anxiety and trepidation. As I said, I'm torn. I love it here but I've committed to go, so I might as well make the best of it.

One thing that gives me pause is when Neil complains about some aspect of the new house. We are losing some things. We won't have out lovely built-ins, but we can buy furniture and shelving to fill the gap. We are losing closet space, including separate master bedroom closets, but we've customized a compromise with lots of shelving and a divider island. We'll have a nice dining area, but not both a breakfast room and dining room. And every time Neil grumbles about one of these things or another, I tell him that I need him to stay 100 percent positive to keep me buoyed up.

Really, I'm not feeling too disquieted. I'm not feeling, period. I'm going with the flow, letting it happen. Accentuating the positive even. Planning furniture placement, picking out lighting, changing my mind, picking out lighting again. Eating, sleeping, walking on the treadmill, binge watching crime drama. The usual.

I finished rewatching Lost. I enjoyed it, maybe even more this time. I'd forgotten enough to keep it interesting. I was still shocked when Michael shot Ana Lucia and Libby. I picked up nuances that escaped me the first time. I appreciated how the producers circled back to things in earlier episodes, and I wondered how far out they'd storyboarded the plot and how much was inspired back-planning.

I loved many of the same scenes I loved the first time, Bernard and Rose retired and living on the beach, Jin meeting Rousseau as a girl, Juliet drinking on the shore after the tanker blew up, Sawyer convincing her to give him two weeks to change her mind about staying, Hurley using the VW Van to take out the bad guys, Desmond, well just about everything about Desmond. I loved how when Juliet made the hydrogen bomb explode, the letters Lost came up in black on white, rather than the characteristic white on black.

The ending was still the ending, but at least this time I knew it was coming and I didn't get into a blue funk for days, like I did the first time. I did have a little bit of withdrawal, since I'd been watching two or three episodes most days for the last month or two. But I move on. Onto the most recent episodes of Jack Taylor at the moment.

Oh, I'm taking a little break from selling beads on Facebook. Today was the first day and it felt good. Hypothetically this will free up some of my time.

So you'll be hearing from me more. At least that's the plan.

I'm a town in Carolina, I'm a detour on a ride
For a phone call and a soda, I'm a blur from the driver's side
I'm the last gas for an hour if you're going 25
I am Texaco and tobacco, I am dust you leave behind

I am peaches in September, and corn from a roadside stall
I'm the language of the natives, I'm a cadence and a drawl
I'm the pines behind the graveyard, and the cool beneath their shade
Where the boys have left their beer cans, I am weeds between the graves

My porches sag and lean with old black men and children
My sleep is filled with dreams, I never can fulfill them
I am a town.

I'm a church beside the highway, where the ditches never drain
I'm a Baptist like my daddy, and Jesus knows my name
I am memory and stillness, I am lonely in old age
I am not your destination, I am clinging to my ways
I am a town

I'm a town in Carolina, I am billboards in the fields
I'm an old truck up on cinder blocks, missing all my wheels
I am Pabst Blue Ribbon, American, and Southern Serves the South
I am tucked behind the Jaycees' sign, on the rural route
I am a town
I am a town
I am a town

(Mary Chapin Carpenter)

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thanks for your comment! I will post it as soon as I receive it. Liz