The Peacock Robe

The original painting by George Watson Barratt:

It's becoming obvious that the miniatures market is the place for my work. I'm kind of worrying that FaerieCon is going to be another wash, but I already paid for the table, so might as well give it a try. The only other shows I have coming up are IGMA in February and Chicago in April. I'm going to do the club show in March too, but I'm sharing the table with Robin, since she's never done one before. I only sold one doll there last year, but then nobody'd ever heard of me then either. Martha Puff is featuring Vespa in a UK miniatures mag in February.

So, perhaps I shouldn't let a couple of bad shows get me down. Things are tough right now. I seriously need to update my website and online galleries, since they seem to be the ones working for me.

We did have one theft that I know of, a young punk-looking couple with their whiny kid made off with a miniature violin and a couple of other small dollhouse items. They were, however, kind enough to leave their empty paper coffee cups on the table. I didn't notice the stuff missing till they'd already pulled out of the driveway. Assholes.

Jim even managed to sell that shitty old equipment trailer that's been sitting there rusting for the past 5 years. What did surprise me was that nobody bought the go-kart. I guess $500 for a used go-kart isn't such a great deal. At least he fixed it.

We made a little over $300 bucks, which will go toward the "dead cow" fund (side of beef coming from Bob T. in November). And got rid of some junk.

Next time, I'll make sure to price anything in the house that isn't nailed down!

A couple of people have called about the harness and the go-kart, but I'll be really surprised if anyone actually shows up in the rain. I hate to continue working to price stuff knowing it's probably a waste of time, but then if some die-hards show up and we don't have anything out…well who cares, the worst that could happen is we still have all our junk.

Seems like I just keep hitting brick walls here trying to sell stuff.

Nancy says we should just do a combo Bonfire Party/Barn Sale and sell stuff there. Right now, I'm ready to just throw what I've priced so far in my truck and take it to the Goodwill. It just ain't worth it. I should be in my studio sculpting instead of screwing around with this junk.

So, I got in the truck and drove around for a while. I discovered a bunch of really cool things that were right under my nose all these years. Elkton is one of those small towns that gets a lot of ribbing from the folks "up north." I remember playing a wedding at a posh restaurant in north Wilmington, DE, and the one bartender said to the other while they were setting up: "don't bother bringing out the good stuff, these people are from Elkton. All they drink is Bud Lite in a can!" The "land of the inbred" jokes continued, until the Porsches and Jaguars started pulling in, and those boys straightened their ties in a hurry. I let them know that the classy looking harpist in black velvet (me) was an Elktonite, but they could fetch me a glass of Chardonnay right quick too.

The first place I stopped was Howard's Pond, a nice little piece of water with a picnic pavilion. Took some nice pictures, then drove around a little more until I discovered a bunch more parks I never knew were there. There's a skateboard park, and Meadow Park, where they have the fireworks we've never gone to see. I think I might start jogging at Meadow Park, they have a real nice track. There's another park across the street with a small pond too, but I forget the name. There were a bunch of people there sitting in their cars, probably on their lunch breaks just getting some fresh air.

Not everyone from Elkton is a redneck. Sure, it has it's share of them, but as Trace Adkins said at his concert this past July, the one thing he's come to know from touring all over this great country is that "there are rednecks EVERYWHERE!" What Elkton does have is a serious infestation of LAWYERS.

I parked my truck in the municipal lot behind the courthouse, and strolled up and down Main Street for a while. It's lined with stately old homes with picturesque front porches, and almost ALL of them are lawyer's offices. It probably has to do with the fact that the Cecil County Courthouse is smack in the middle of town. There's more than a couple of bail bonds places mixed in there too.

Then there's the little Wedding Chapel, the last one left from the era when everyone flocked to Elkton to get married because there was no waiting period. They did ask us if we were related when Jim and I went to get our marriage license. Being a smart-ass, he answered "would it matter if we were?"

Several nice restaurants, luncheonettes, art galleries, tattoo parlor and even a private investigator's office. The usual bunch of churches. The chamber of commerce office surprised me, it's a tiny little house down on the other end of the street. The Cecil County Arts Council building, however, is a great big white brick victorian smack in the middle of town. I popped in to see the member's art show that was going on, since I just joined but didn't make the deadline for the show. Some nice stuff, some amateur stuff. I did wonder how they decided who got the honor of hanging their pieces in the restroom off the main gallery.

I grabbed a mess of brochures from the kiosk on main street, snapped a bunch more pictures, and went back to the truck. I stopped at the Farmer's market behind the courthouse and bought some corn from an asian man, and came back home feeling much better than yesterday.

This morning, I found the posting for a Graphic Designer job at Cecil College, and fired off a resume. Now that would be sweet, to find a decent job with a decent paycheck, right in my town.

The little kitties went to the SPCA about a week after the last post. It killed me to do it, but I've already got 12 to think about. I just pray they got the care they needed and maybe even got adopted. I've spotted two of the other three in the neighbor's yard–she's got a carrier out there with food in it. That's fine–let it be someone else's turn.

Rusty had his ear surgery on the 9th, and is back in today to get his stitches out. His ear tumor wasn't malignant, thank the Gods. I sold my music pad, digital camera and keyboard to pay his $1400 vet bill.

Last week I had an interview at a local non-profit org for a job–basically the same thing I was doing at the museum, mostly web, some print work. As I suspected, it only pays $29-33k. What I didn't expect was that they'd want someone who can not only use the entire design suite, but CODE ASP/PHP too. It makes me sad to be applying for jobs like this–I made more money than that 15 years ago. The thing is, I'd be glad to take the job if they offer it to me. I've come to a point in my career where I'd rather be working a job I enjoy for less money and a good cause, than selling my soul to some heartless corporation for a big paycheck. Not only that, but this non-profit is 15 minutes from home, great benefits, flexible work hours, 4 weeks vacation, and the best yet, it's what I love to do–web design. I'm trying to be positive-I even pulled out my copy of Adobe CS2, figuring I'll donate it to them if I get the job so they'll have more updated software. I sorted through my box of office stuff and got it ready for a new cube. The interview seemed to go well, but I'll be surprised if I hear from them again. Some whiz kid will probably come in who already knows how to code ASP/PHP, and that will be that.

April just sent me another similar job opp at the local college which is even closer to home. Alas, I pulled up their site, and there it is again, that pesky ASP stuff. I'm sure I could learn it if need be. But, do I really want to kill myself trying to learn this stuff just so I can land some entry-level job? I'd be more than willing to learn it ON the job, if I get the job.

My biggest fear right now is that the bank will call me back. I don't know if I could stand going back there. My next biggest fear is that they won't call me back. $45 an hour is hard to pass up. Especially when unemployment only pays $297 a week, and even that's only for 6 months. But I was bored out of my mind, the commute was killing me, and I felt I had no life 5 days out of 7.

A decent job, close to home. Close to home–that keeps coming back to me as a point of major importance, more so than the size of the paycheck.

Then comes the question: WHY am I even looking for a job? Where did all that enthusiasm for "making a living as an artist" go? Sit through a doll show and a craft fair and don't sell a thing, that will put a dent in your resolve. I'm really starting to doubt myself. FaerieCon is coming up in a couple of weeks, and I haven't done much for it. I've already paid for the table, so I'm out that money anyway. It seems everything and anything is keeping me out of my studio this past few weeks. This week I'm scrambling trying to put stuff together for the yard sale on Saturday. Then comes the bonfire party stuff. What next?

I need to go for a walk and clear my head. I think I'm going to drive into town and wander around, maybe try and figure out why I landed here, how this place came to be my home. I remember Mom looking out over the balcony of her apartment in the retirement home saying, "See, I can even see the lights of my town right over there. That's my town, and this is my home." She and Dad built their house about 5 miles outside of that town, and lived there for 47 years. Here I am, about 5 miles outside of this town on this piece of land. I've already lived here for 8 years. I need to go get to know My Town.

I found her little brother yesterday morning. Dusty had him pinned against the dog fence and was trying to stomp him while the dogs snapped and barked at him from the other side. The little orange guy had pretty much prepared to meet his maker. When I shoved the marauding donkey away and picked him up, he didn't struggle. He just went limp.  I was sure Dusty had dealt him a death blow, but when I got him down to the trailer and set him in front of the food and water, he wobbled over to the bowls and chowed down. Then he set to purring and washing himself between sneezes (he's sick too).

Today, he seems better, he's still sneezing, but his eyes are clear and he's not wobbling anymore. He's not as obnoxious as his sister, but he's got a yowl on him.

I fessed up to Jim yesterday after he spent a half hour in the neighbor's sticker bushes trying to catch a third one, with no luck. We ended up just leaving a can of food there for any of the other three that might still be there. "I hate to see them starve," Jim said. But he told me not to spend any money on them, to just take them to the SPCA.

I already made an appointment for the first one for tomorrow morning to go to the vet, but then I add up how much it's going to cost, and what little money we have now with me being out of work…you can't save them all, he says. Add to that the fact that Rusty's ear surgery is going to cost around $1300. I've already decided to sell my MusicPad and keyboard to help pay for that.

But I don't know if I can just dump them off at the SPCA. I've never taken an animal there before. Never. I've always vowed that if they come to me, I will take care of them.

I'm losing the battle against cursing the assholes who dumped them here. May they all die of horrible uncurable diseases, and then rot in hell for eternity.

I've come to the conclusion that Joe Public just doesn't "get" my work.

I'm trying real hard not to look into your weepy eyes, to see your starved little body, to listen to your incessant crying. Trying not to see that you remind me of TC, who's been gone all these years. Trying not to find a place for you in this already overflowing haven for your kind. Trying not to think of what will happen when I take you to get the care that you need, and find out that you might just be beyond care. Trying not to imagine having to bury you with all the others who have broken my heart, either tomorrow, or 15 years from now.

I'm trying real hard not to hope that your brothers and sisters will just go away. To hope I won't see or hear their cries anymore, so I won't be the one who has to deal with them and have four more heartbreaks, since you were the only one I was able to catch.

I'm trying real hard not to curse the ones who did this to you. I want so much to punish them, to make them pay, to send every evil thought I've ever had their way for doing this to us. Because now, it's you AND me.

I'm trying real hard–and it is soooo hard– to pray that they will see the error of their ways, spay your mother, and become responsible pet caretakers instead of ignorant assholes who dump sick kittens by the side of the road.