ANOTHER MISS SANDY MISADVENTURE: THE SNEAKY SNAKE (OR HOW I ALMOST LOST A REAL ESTATE AGENT)

I seriously don't know how these things happen but they do and they happen to me...the weird, the strange, the unusual, the hilarious...and they usually become legend in and outside of our family.  Now before the Handyman can broadcast it far and wide I will tell the tale on myself.  It all began innocently enough...

We have a piece of property we are putting up for sale (nothing unusual about that, people sell property all the time) so we contacted our real estate agent to set up a meeting to discuss the sale and get the paperwork started (again, nothing usual about that, its part of the process).

Setting the scene:  A gorgeous spring day with a wonderful breeze scented with the fragrance of fresh cut lawn.  Song birds twitter and flutter across the hay fields.  The mountains are putting on a colorful show of new green and lush blooms.  A wee brown bunny nibbles at fresh foliage at the edge of the lawn.  A perfect day in the countryside.

The agent arrives and we discuss the property and are taking a little tour when out of the field and right near our feet slithers a 5 foot long black snake.  An exclamation of "Oh my!" issues forth from the Handyman who stands there calmly, the real estate agent shivers and shimmies from head to toe and gurgles, "Bwah..ugh...ewww!" (or something like that), I let out a yelp that echoed off the mountains and shot off in the opposite direction of the object of our mutual dislike.

While the Handyman is trying to shoo the slinky slithering snake back into the field, the agent decides she wants a closer look at him and goes in for a peek with her camera, I stay on my perch very far away.  (This is a very bad sign of things to come, she wanted a closer look, well little did she know she was about to get one...we all were)  Not wanting a close up Mr. Snake decided to hide out is a thick patch of mint. 

I direct everyone away and around to the front door where we go inside to do the paper work needed to start the sale process.  We get the business out of the way and then settle in for a visit, for not only is she our agent, she is also a friend.  After catching up she is ready to head home and as is the custom here in the South, the long goodbye begins.  

First everyone stands up as conversation continues where as group you meander to the door.  Then you congregate on the porch as you all gradually make your way down the steps all the while still having lively conversation.  A drawn out strolling procession ensues to the mode of transportation where hugs and handshakes are shared.  The leave takers settle themselves inside while a door is left open or a window is rolled down, goodbyes are called, well wishes of safe travel, waves, smiles, and hope to see you soon's are shared back and forth over the sound of the motor.  A slow tangible pulling away begins, physical separation, that is felt with both space and emotion as any good visit always ends, wishing it was longer and more often.  Both leave takers and those left behind part chatting about all their favorite parts of the visit because, lawd! we Southerners like our long goodbyes.  (or at least that was what was supposed to happen, here comes the weird unusual part)

The Handyman is standing at the door, hand on knob, ever the ready gentlemen to allow ladies to exit first.  Our guest/friend/agent is heading for the door.  I bring up the rear of our little parade.  We are staggered across the room and I have the best vantage point of the door as the Handyman is opening it, looking back over his shoulder, and talking, the real estate agent is responding, and I am for some unknown reason am focused on the exit.  Everything suddenly time warped, I swear it was slow motion and instant fast forward all in one turn of a door knob.

The knob turns, the door opens, a new guest arrives...remember that snake I mentioned earlier, the one lurking in the mint patch out back?  He was coming right on in the front door!  He is literally right by the Handyman's foot just out of the agents sight and right in my sight line.  I let out a banshee whoop that made my native american ancestors proud, alerting the Handyman of the intruder all the while doing a perfect pirouette while moving faster than greased lightning past the stunned agent, around the corner, wedging myself on the kitchen counter by the coffee pot.  I turn my head just in time to see the shocked agent twirl in a circle, reach for the kitchen table, draw back, start to run, hit the wall, and land in a heap on the floor.  My discombobulated mind thought in all naivete that I was safe by the coffee pot but she had done got got!  The Handyman stands there calm as a cucumber and shuts the door enough to hold the uninvited guest in check.  

He yells at me to quickly bring him a broom.  I yell back in a minute as I am trying to extricate myself from the awkward wedge dive onto the counter.  The agent  is strangely silent as she picks herself up off the floor looking rather dazed.  I get the broom, round the corner and see 3 feet of writhing angry hissing snapping snake in the living room.  I threw the broom at the Handyman and made an exit, stage left!

The door opens, broom not needed to encourage guest to leave, he puts it in reverse quick enough and has the nerve to think he can slither up on, rest, and recover on the porch furniture!  (and I thought I was safe up high on the coffee pot shelf)  The Handyman is no Southern gentleman at this point but strongly encourages the unwanted guest to leave, post haste!  Mean while back in the house the agent and I stand in stunned silence looking at one another as the Handyman comes back in.  The frayed nerves and the ridiculousness of the situation hit us all at the same time and we roar with laughter.

Once the tears of laughter dry we try to dissect exactly what happened.  Handyman said he heard my warning scream of garbled whoop and "snake coming in the door" as he saw my backside flash around the corner and the agent crumple in a heap to the floor.  The agent said I scared the dickens out of her with the loudest scream she has ever heard and had never seen anyone run so fast in all her life swearing I broke some sort of sound and speed record.  She looked at me accusatory and could not determine if I pushed her out of the way or if her shoe gripped the floor as she turned to run and hit the wall falling into a heap.  And the snake, well he was just looking for a cool piece of property to inhabit and got much more than he bargained for.

After sufficient recovery we ushered the agent off with a parting gift of a huge bouquet of fresh garden flowers, profuse apologies, the memory of a lifetime, and the Southern tradition of the long goodbye.

On the way home in the silence of the truck spontaneous fits of laughter burst forth from either the Handyman or I.  Sleep last night was hard coming because we got so tickled we laughed until we cried...again.  All the while we wondered if we still had an agent or a friend.  I guess we do, got a text from her this morning, she already got a call on the property.

And so another Miss Sandy Misadventure legend begins, I hear the Handyman on the phone regaling the tale...

blessings and smiles,

Sandy

P.S.  What do these pics have to do with this post, absolutely nothing, my camera and I have been doing a study of all things green, its my favorite color and all these photo contain varying shades of green.  Hows that for some randomness? 

ARTFUL OR AWFUL COUTURE...

Is it ever OK to wear your Pottery Barn curtain, your great aunt's handmade table cloth, and a high thread count Egyptian cotton pillow case as an outfit...in public I mean?  I am wondering would that be considered artful or awful couture?

It all started with a simple question from Handy Hubby,  "What kind of clothes do you wear with the kind of jewelry you are making?  Maybe you need to show your work off with something different or unique."  The hamster wheel in my head started turning and I thought he is right, I should make some artful clothing to use as props for photos. I ambled off to the studio to see what I could come up with.  I had a simple basic shirt pattern on hand that I thought I could alter a bit to get the look I wanted by tracing the main pattern front and back onto a roll of craft paper and then sketching the alterations to that to make a new pattern.

Since this was only going to be a prop for photos I dug through my fabric stash to see what I could come up with.  I found a fab Pottery Barn curtain that I had picked up at a tag sale, the linen was high quality and I knew it would be great for crafting with, after washing and drying it crinkled into the most fabulous texture, this would make the front and back of the shirt.  

For the sleeves I chose a handmade damaged crochet table cloth that my great aunt made.  My mother had given it to me years ago thinking I could craft with the good parts, one end had a great gaping hole torn in the stitching but otherwise was in great shape.

Next I needed something to use for the facing pieces (yes I was making it like a real live shirt even though it was going to be a prop) and I found an Egyptian cotton pillowcase, soft as butter, in my stash, another tag sale find, that was the right weight and color.  Lastly I wanted an accent color and snagged a piece of muslin I had hand dyed to a lovely robins egg blue.

After patterning, pinning, snipping, sewing, clipping, and ironing I had a piece of artful couture as a photo prop!  I put it on my display form and hung it in the studio.  As I was cleaning up my sewing shambles I kept sneaking peeks at the garment.  I thought to myself, "I would wear that."  Followed by, "You can't wear that, its a Pottery Barn curtain for heavens sake!"  "Wait a minute, I am a resourceful southern gal just like Scarlett O'Hara and we both had the same idea..."

"But what if I look like this...

Instead of this...

While clad in my curtain garment?"

Batting the thought back and forth in my brain another Scarlett-isum came to mind, "Well fiddle-dee-dee, see if I care!"  So, did I wear it out in public?  The proof is in the picture...

So, what do you think artful or awful couture?

Blessings,

Sandy

A CHRISTMAS TREE TALE...

I have been absent from the land of blog due to what feels like the flu and my Christmas tree will be absent from the holiday due to what seems to be a fatal chew...(ALL IMAGES IN THIS POST ARE COURTESY OF KAREN'S WHIMSY)

Once upon a time in a place not very far away;
The holiday of Christmas was quickly on its way.
A certain little cottage with the title of Quill;
Was waiting for its adorning all quite and still.
Twas two weeks before Christmas and not one decoration appeared all through the house. Not a creature was stirring, save one lone little mouse.
The stockings were still packed in storage with great care;
In hopes that they would soon be drug out of there.
I was nestled all snug in my bed;
While visions of delirium danced in my fevered head.
I sneezed in my 'kerchief and swigged Nyquil from a cap;
And had just settled down for a bit of a nap ;
When out in the barn there arose such a clatter;
That I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the barn I flew like a flash;
Throwing open the doors to the loft I did dash.
The light from the window cast an eerie glow on what appeared to be new fallen snow.
Giving luster to the sprinkling of objects below.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear;
Not miniature sleigh or even eight tiny reindeer,
But one lone little mouse so lively and quick;
That I knew in a moment that I needed to catch him, ick!
I screeched and I shouted and I called him a name!
" Now git before I dance and prance on you, you vixen!"
He ran like a comet, the destructive little blitzen!
I chased him to the top of the stairs and he ran up the wall;
The whole time I am screeching, " Dash away! Dash away! Dash away you fur ball!"
Mad as a wild hurricane I let a wild swing fly;
Hoping mouse would meet obstacle and mount to the sky.
So, up into the rafters that fur ball withdrew,
Leaving a trail full of tree needles as his little feet flew.And then in a twinkling I heard on the old tin roof;
The scurrying and pawing of each little hoof.
(I know, mice have paws, but that did not rhyme)
As I held my aching head and was turning around;
Down from the rafters came the naughty mouse with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot;
And there beside him lay my Christmas tree all tattered and the sight left me standing there as if I'd grown root.
A bundle of tree needles he had bitten and thrown over his back;
Lay scattered on the floor from his hasty attack.
His eyes how they twinkled! He sat there like he was merry!
His cheeks were like little pouches and his nose twitched like a little pink cherry!
His little mouth was drawn up in a the smile of a bow;
And his whiskers glimmered like white snow!
He sat there and held tight in his teeth;
The bristles of tree and front door wreath!
He had a small mouse-ish face and little round belly;
That quivered when he moved and made my knees turn to jelly.
He was chubby and plump, right jolly with himself;
And I cringed when I saw him in spite of myself.
A blink of his eye and the twist of his head;
Soon gave me to know I had more to dread.
He made not a squeak and went straight back to his work;
Filling his nest with all the tree needles; then turned with a jerk,
Twitching his little cherry pink nose;
He gave a nod, and up to the wall he once again he rose.
He sprang to the rafters giving me a squeaking whistle;
Away he scuttled like the down on the thistle.
I exclaimed as he dove out of sight, " You ate my Christmas tree! Oh, good night!"
The man of the house, who improperly stored the tree in the loft of the barn instead of the sealed storage building, will be seeking out a replacement tree for me, preferably one that is mouse free! I'll let you know how THAT turns out. In the meantime, I hope your day is extremely happy, healthy, and merry and may nary a mouse come near your tree!

MY NOSE IS A LITTLE OUT OF JOINT...

I woke up yesterday with my nose a little out of joint. Usually that phrase means that one is upset, annoyed, irritated, or your plans have been upset. None of these, however, apply to my state of being. We had a fantastic weekend hanging out with our precious little grandson. He came for an over night visit on Friday and we spent the day at the zoo on Saturday. We got a private tour of the lorikeet exhibit getting to help feed them, it was like being swathed in a rainbow of brilliant color...Nothing about that to make ones nose out of joint.

I did not wake up like a grumpy gorilla...Nor was I having a bad hair day...
My feathers were not ruffled...
I did not discover any new wrinkles...
I don't feel like I am just treading water...
Or like the odd man out...
I don't have a crick in my neck and I can still bend over and touch my knees...
I am not suffering from seriously scaly skin or in dire need of a mani/pedi...
And my dry as leaf diet seems to be working...At least it's making my head look thinner don't ya think?...
I am not depressed and feeling like a I need to crawl into a deep dark hole...I am not being caged in...
Nor am I pressured to follow the crowd...
And I am not hanging on by a fine thin line...
Any of which could put ones nose out of joint. Nope, my nose is literally out of joint...I think I may have broken it!

Did you know that if we go from bright light to a dim lit or darkened room we are hardly able to see our surroundings at first? As time goes by we gradually become able to detect a rooms contents. This phenomenon is known as " dark adaptation," and it typically takes between 20 and 30 minutes to reach its maximum, depending on the intensity of light exposure in the previous surroundings. This little phenomenon is what caused my nose to be out of joint. While humans can somewhat adapt to the darkness they are not nocturnal.

One of my favorite exhibits at the zoo since childhood is that of the lemurs also known as bush babies. The term " bush baby" literally means " little night monkeys." These nocturnal primates have large eyes that give them good night vision and they possess remarkable agility to move around in the dark without bumping into things. Humans do not, hence my out of joint nose.Did you know that if you have been doing a little bedside reading with a brightly lit lamp and suddenly turn it off, stand up, and then attempt to walk down a dark hallway though two doors and that since you have not given your dark adaptation senses time to kick in that you might become somewhat disoriented as to the exact location of the second door and you might just slightly miscalculate said opening and you might just slam face first into the frame instead of the opening...just saying... it could happen.

I got myself an instantaneous goose egg on my nose. An ice pack and three pain relievers later I was able to rest a bit. Some swelling, some bruising, and some volley of phone calls to the doctor later have determined that it may indeed be out of joint. I guess practicing those lemur skills is kind of out of the question from now on and hanging out at the zoo for a day might not be such a good idea if I come home trying to imitate them!

So, what did you do over the weekend?

I hope your week is off to a great start and that your day resembles nothing of a zoo!

Blessings,
Miss Sandy

SPIDERS AND SURPRISES...

I love surprises and spiders are OK if they go their way and I go mine but, when a spider and a surprise are all wrapped up in one, this is not the kind of package I want to receive. I found myself on the receiving end of just such a gift at 4:00 AM Tuesday morning.

There I lay in a peaceful slumber, nestled under a soft comfy blanket with my head cradled by a fluffy down pillow, totally unaware of the danger that lurked nearby. I moved slightly to burrow deeper into my pillow when I thought I was dreaming that something was crawling on my face. Automatic response kicked in and I slapped myself in the face hoping to squish and swish whatever was there off. I sat up in bed slapping at everything in sight. Kind of startled Handy Hubby as he was in slapping range. He asked me if I was dreaming and I said I thought I was.
Just to be sure I turned on the light, seeing nothing, I lay back down with a sense of unease and the sting of my self-inflicted slap still burning my cheek and chin. Two short hours later I awoke to a burning, stinging pain. Looking into the mirror I was shocked to see that I was now in possession of Jay Leno's chin! Surprise! Upon closer examination I detected two sets of puncture wounds on my chin.

Further investigation reveal a crumpled up criminal on the carpet next to the bed...he was dead! I slid the culprit into a Ziplock body bag, minus the toe tag, (do spiders even have toes?) ready to send him to the morgue for identification which was going to be a little hard since there was that swish and squish thing.
Handy Hubby and Darling Daughter decided to team up for their own little CSI segment to identify the suspect. They got all high tech Googling and magnifying glass oogling the body. I got the pleasure of sitting by while listening to statements like this: " Uh oh! Not good! This guy has three sets of eyes instead of the typical four sets." " Oh no! He has hair on his legs instead of spikes." " Is that a fiddle shaped tattoo on his back? Hard to tell, he's kind of squished there but sure looks like it." Darling Daughter even goes as far as being a sketch artist drawing out details to use in comparison to the high tech data base of Google mug shots of spiders!

They are pretty sure they have made an identification when these two goobs decide to see if they can track down some of the dead guys posse. Surprise! One of the dead guys gang members was hiding out in our closet. He is more mature and tough looking, more easily identifiable by the distinct fiddle shaped tattoo etched on his back, they were members of the Brown Recluse Gang! This was a gang initiation gone horribly wrong.The big guy dared the little guy to scurry up the dust ruffle, run across the pillows and faces of the two innocent sleeping victims, scram off the other side, zigzag through the maze of under the bed container storage and make it back to the closet unscathed. The little guy panicked when he detected movement from the first innocent bystander and shot off two rounds of venom. Unfortunately for him, he received a deadly squish and swish slap that landed him crumpled on the carpet. The big guy was just hanging out in the closet waiting for his chance to retaliate, fortunately, my crime solving team made an arrest and he received a royal flush as sentencing.

In the meantime my chin is looking a little less Lenoish and I have passed the 48 hour danger zone mark where discoloration and deterioration take place, so things look better. I have been seriously freaked out thinking I might just be starring in another crime drama, Scarface! Other than a few other minor side effects everything is fine. I am waging my own war on crime cleaning, spraying, and setting up a sting operation of special Brown Recluse Gang traps that will take their own little bite out of crime!On a happier note I did have something wonderful happen after all the trauma and drama, I won KC Willis $200.00 Art Shopping spree at her gallery. Surprise! (in a good way) I have to thank KC for her generosity and I can't wait to view her gallery and own a piece of her amazing art!

I hope all of you have an amazing and safe Labor Day Weekend!

Blessings,
Miss Sandy

P.S. I do know that Brown Recluse do not spin webs, plus a few thousand other facts about them compliments of my detective team, but I think the intricacy and beauty of the woven webs are quite marvelous and they do fit the spider theme of the post so that is why I chose them for my photos, just in case you are wondering.

YOU MIGHT BE A DIE HARD CRAFTER IF...

Handy Hubby had the week off work last week and it was kind of a long week to be sure, this is how it began...I'd been sitting on the sofa all of 49 minutes when I noticed the restless twitch begin. I turned to see if Handy Hubby had noticed. Oh yeah, he noticed, big time. I returned his cheeky little boy gin with an equally cheeky little girl one with the same air of challenge. I can do this. I can do this. I. CAN. DO. THIS! rolled through my mind as I sat there ever so serenely. I fooled no one, not him and not myself.

I casually got up to his questioning where ya goin' look and said I was just going to get a magazine. One whole entire minute later, much to my horror, I realized that I had packed a magazine I had already read...from cover to cover. Nooooo! This cannot be happening my thoughts shouted. So I sat and thumbed through the pages looking at pictures I had already seen while feigning interest.This is supposed to be relaxing I kept reminding myself. It is only for a few days, which, by the way, felt like a few years stretching out before me. Why on earth did I let him goad me into the bet? Rewinding the conversation in my mind I pictured myself standing in my studio contemplating what to bring with me to the farm to keep myself entertained. He poked his head in the door telling me to take a break and just leave it. I looked at him like he had two heads.

That is when he challenged me...to go a few whole days at the farm without ANY crafting supplies or projects. Just so you know, this no crafting thing was added to the list of the fact that the farm gets zero TV reception, no cell phone signal, no cable/satellite, no Internet, a radio that gets a scratchy country station, and no people in sight. This was his version of Survivor and for some stupid reason I decided to rise to the challenge...no crafting for a few days, easy peasy!Jerking back to the present I checked the clock, yep, I'd sure enough been sitting on the sofa a whole 49 minutes...absorbed in silence...looking out the window...when my leg began to bounce...my body started to fidget...and I thought I felt something akin to a full blown panic attack set in. I plastered a placid look on my face as he passed me, tool kit in hand, to fix the plumbing under the bathroom sink and that is when I cheated. Yes, people, I admit it...I CHEATED!

While I was twitching my mind was busy doing a mental inventory of ALL the contents of the house. Scissor? Check! Glue or tape? Nope, dried out, nuts! Maybe I could invent a paste from flour and water? Paper? Lined note pad, old phone book, yellowed newspaper lining hall shelf (might be a good find!), wax paper, freezer wrap, paper towels, toilet paper! Check, check, and check, well, maybe not the toilet paper. Coffee filters! Check! Oh, there might be food coloring, there is coffee and tea...dye! Check!Think, think, think...B.I.N.G.O! THE BUTTON BOX!!! I did not think anyone had removed the button box! Happy happy joy joy! Happy happy joy! Do you even know what a score a button box is? It not only has buttons but needles, threads, little patches of denim, thimbles, and trinkets of all sorts. And, I knew where some fabric was, nana nana boo boo!

With great stealth I slipped past the bathroom while his head was under the sink. My heart was thudding in my chest at getting caught. Holding my breath I stepped into Granny's old room and there it was, just as it had always been, the black tin with colorful flowers on top, resting on the back right corner of the chest of drawers. Gingerly lifting it from its resting place I cradled it like some priceless treasure while tip toeing over to the big bouncy iron bed.Scooting to the middle I opened the tin. As I quietly sifted through the contents, I discovered there was almost everything a crafter would need alongside the imagination to create something. I put everything back and slipped into the laundry/mudroom quickly fingering through the "rag bag" as Granny called it and hit pay dirt - old pieces of linen from a worn out table cloth, barely there soft scraps of bleached thin t-shirts, faded prints from sheeting, scraps of overall denim, oh the possibilities! But wait...there was that bet thing.

I heard the metallic clink of tool hitting tool as they were being placed back in the tool box. Scooting through the kitchen to avoid being detected I whoosed back into my spot on the sofa just in the nick of time. As he passes he asks me if I have figured out what I was going to do yet while giving me a look as if he suspects I have been up to something but he can't quite figure it out. I ask him if I can borrow his little work computer from his truck. He wants to know why. I simply said I felt a blog post coming on.Two hours and seven minutes later I have not actually cheated, unless thinking about it and sort of planning for it counts, a blog post is born and saved to WordPad, it is almost time for a big night out on the town, a trip the local Daisy Queen, serving the community since 1966, for a fish basket, with only 59 hours and 53 more minutes to go...until I am back in the studio!

You might be a die hard crafter if you can't go more than 49 minutes without withdrawal symptoms showing up...jonesing for glue gumming up your fingers, the sound of scissors snipping, or doing a mental supply inventory that might even include the unlikely supply of toilet paper!

Blessings,

Miss Sandy

P.S. Funny note to tack on to the end of the story...We were supposed to stay for a few days at the farm...resting and relaxing, at Handy Hubby's suggestion, right? By 10:00 AM on day two of said resting and relaxing trip...HE had had enough of doing without all his modern amenities and was rushing me to pack and head home! Probably saved me from really cheating but lets just keep that between us, shall we? So, technically, I won the bet!