![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stitchwhichToday I got a pedicure. I do it every few weeks (okay, well, every couple of months because it IS kinda hard to justify the expense in my world. For me to give to someone - fine. For me to give to myself.... well, there's books I want to buy, bills I could take care of faster, cloth I need to get, needlework supplies, yarn, taking the husband to Smokie Bones... you get the picture.) But every little while I look down at my pinkies and realise that I can't see the ends of my toes anymore. And after the huffing, the puffing, the contorting and then the sighing, I admit to myself that I'm not far enough along on the back-rebuilding front to be able to safely trim my own toenails and then I treat myself to a pedicure. Ah, me. The pain.
It really was "the pain" today since my old pedicurist has now retired (see what happens when I don't go often? Taken by surprise) and has been replaced by - a man. A guy who never told me his name and is probably the same age as I am. I am grateful that he speaks english better than the sweet lady he replaced but still, there's a certain shame in realising that some guy is gonna see my talon-toes and (horrors!) I FORGOT to SHAVE my LEGS! Great. Just great. So he made merry with the little razor-thingy that they use on callused heels and then I got some new-fangled "spa treatment" which they've just started. That would mean that after slicing and dicing the soles of my feet, this guy rubbed what felt like lava-rock soap all over my lower legs and then said, "there, doesn't that feel better?" I had to check and make sure that I still had hair on my legs. I was doubting it. But like all good german-grown fuzz, it survived the sanding. My skin didn't. I don't think I have freckles below my knees anymore.
I escaped with prettier toes ("No, I really mean it when I say "no red polish'. Really. Do I LOOK like someone who'd wear red polish? Okay, I'll take the pale pearly-stuff." Sheesh.)
Then I celebrated by balancing the checkbook, going to the Commissary to buy food for this weekend, and capped it by going back through the commissary to buy a few bags of "mom loves you" stuff for my newly-moved-out son. His roomie sort of, um, well kinda - has that "what's mine is mine and what's your's is mine too" attitude about food. Which we could afford when he lived here and she visited, but he can't afford when he's still waiting for his first real paycheck. So I got him comfort-food and felt all warm and fuzzy while I was doing it. It's going to take time to train myself out of getting pleasure from buying the stuff my boy likes. But for now, he's letting me down easy and I get big hugs at the door, so it's all good. It won't be too long before he'll tell me to stop that and even pouting won't let me buy beefaroni and Cheetos to deliver.
I came home to a phone call from Tammy, someone who used to be in my household and was down visiting Misha! I talked to Misha for a while - I miss the old days, sometimes. And my Ghod - Tammy and Mel's daughter turned 15 today. 15. I met Tammy when that child was still waiting in line for her older brother to be born. Good grief. So I got revenge by telling Tammy that Shawn was 21 and has been trying out mixed drinks at bars. I *think* she didn't drop the phone. We agreed that there ought to be some sort of meter that parents can use to control their kid's growth rate. (I don't really want one - I think it's neater to have a healthy span of time when I'm in my "prime" and my kids are adults and we can really have fun doing stuff together before I start to get old and hobbled. And they start having kids and their checkbooks and days get attacked.)
Bed. Must go to bed. Will probably be up again soon to sew some more. Friday we're off to Sapphire Joust where the Marinus Bazaar will be set up (fundraising for the barony) and then on the following weds. I can hand over the funds, the receipts, and the ledger book and my four-month obligation to the barony will be discharged. It's been a good challenge, but I'm ready to sew for myself now. And to do something just for my own pure pleasure rather than the satisfaction of taking weird, odd donated fabric and trying to salvage it into something usable. Caitlin, the sweetie, gave the barony some good stuff but she'd be terrified of what I've had to work with besides that. I augmented with purchased fabric and just "lost" some of the truly aweful stuff. The saddest part is that this stuff will sell - it is (for the most part) natural fibers and well constructed. Just - boring. And so sad that so few people sew for folks outside of their families that even this "only okay" stuff is going to be popular... man, I'd love to have the time to sew some really *nice* linen and wool for big people, especially for people who want authentic-patterned, culture-specific stuff. But even with 4 months of this fundraising stuff going on, I had to use what was donated before I could justify buying extra fabric that would cut into the profits, so - I ran out of time. Darn it.
It really was "the pain" today since my old pedicurist has now retired (see what happens when I don't go often? Taken by surprise) and has been replaced by - a man. A guy who never told me his name and is probably the same age as I am. I am grateful that he speaks english better than the sweet lady he replaced but still, there's a certain shame in realising that some guy is gonna see my talon-toes and (horrors!) I FORGOT to SHAVE my LEGS! Great. Just great. So he made merry with the little razor-thingy that they use on callused heels and then I got some new-fangled "spa treatment" which they've just started. That would mean that after slicing and dicing the soles of my feet, this guy rubbed what felt like lava-rock soap all over my lower legs and then said, "there, doesn't that feel better?" I had to check and make sure that I still had hair on my legs. I was doubting it. But like all good german-grown fuzz, it survived the sanding. My skin didn't. I don't think I have freckles below my knees anymore.
I escaped with prettier toes ("No, I really mean it when I say "no red polish'. Really. Do I LOOK like someone who'd wear red polish? Okay, I'll take the pale pearly-stuff." Sheesh.)
Then I celebrated by balancing the checkbook, going to the Commissary to buy food for this weekend, and capped it by going back through the commissary to buy a few bags of "mom loves you" stuff for my newly-moved-out son. His roomie sort of, um, well kinda - has that "what's mine is mine and what's your's is mine too" attitude about food. Which we could afford when he lived here and she visited, but he can't afford when he's still waiting for his first real paycheck. So I got him comfort-food and felt all warm and fuzzy while I was doing it. It's going to take time to train myself out of getting pleasure from buying the stuff my boy likes. But for now, he's letting me down easy and I get big hugs at the door, so it's all good. It won't be too long before he'll tell me to stop that and even pouting won't let me buy beefaroni and Cheetos to deliver.
I came home to a phone call from Tammy, someone who used to be in my household and was down visiting Misha! I talked to Misha for a while - I miss the old days, sometimes. And my Ghod - Tammy and Mel's daughter turned 15 today. 15. I met Tammy when that child was still waiting in line for her older brother to be born. Good grief. So I got revenge by telling Tammy that Shawn was 21 and has been trying out mixed drinks at bars. I *think* she didn't drop the phone. We agreed that there ought to be some sort of meter that parents can use to control their kid's growth rate. (I don't really want one - I think it's neater to have a healthy span of time when I'm in my "prime" and my kids are adults and we can really have fun doing stuff together before I start to get old and hobbled. And they start having kids and their checkbooks and days get attacked.)
Bed. Must go to bed. Will probably be up again soon to sew some more. Friday we're off to Sapphire Joust where the Marinus Bazaar will be set up (fundraising for the barony) and then on the following weds. I can hand over the funds, the receipts, and the ledger book and my four-month obligation to the barony will be discharged. It's been a good challenge, but I'm ready to sew for myself now. And to do something just for my own pure pleasure rather than the satisfaction of taking weird, odd donated fabric and trying to salvage it into something usable. Caitlin, the sweetie, gave the barony some good stuff but she'd be terrified of what I've had to work with besides that. I augmented with purchased fabric and just "lost" some of the truly aweful stuff. The saddest part is that this stuff will sell - it is (for the most part) natural fibers and well constructed. Just - boring. And so sad that so few people sew for folks outside of their families that even this "only okay" stuff is going to be popular... man, I'd love to have the time to sew some really *nice* linen and wool for big people, especially for people who want authentic-patterned, culture-specific stuff. But even with 4 months of this fundraising stuff going on, I had to use what was donated before I could justify buying extra fabric that would cut into the profits, so - I ran out of time. Darn it.
