Thanksgiving is over. We cooked a full traditional meal for just the two of us and finished off the last of it today at lunch. The family celebrated 2000 miles away but we were close in each others' thoughts. The three day craft fair was especially crowded and lively this year and I'm grateful that so many people appreciated the work I've done with yarn. It's always such a throw of the dice - will people come? will they buy? the economy is so bad. Taos always lags behind economically. I think, in fact, that gifts are still being bought and there is a growing appreciation for hand made items. Gratitude.
I shared space with poet Leslie Ullman who makes Bead Poem necklaces using incredible ingredients.
Our energies complement each other and we had a lovely time for three days - although this year there was no free time to share poetry. There was an especially heavy showing of jewelry at the fair this year and we were surrounded. By Sunday we were trading with each other. Now I have a special OM pendant from a designer that cost me a tiny felted purse. She wanted it so much. Energies exchanged. Gratitude.
Hand warmers sold out, socks flew out the door, shawls were treated like treasures, new friends and collectors were made.
I met a lively attractive woman whose uncle was sculptor Jose de Rivera - well known in the '60s and beyond, died in the '80s. She loaned me a book on her uncle's work and I brought it home for Ron to peruse. As a sculptor himself, he was interested. Catherine also showed me brooches that her uncle created for the special women in his life. He created the one on the right for her when she was a little girl.
All in all, the weekend was busy, exhausting and satisfying. I thank all the people who still love hand crafts and to all of those who keep it alive. And I can't help but feel that craft shows are, after all, the result of people's passions for craft run amuck. Long may they run wild.
And now, as the night closes in, I am faced with a ball of yarn the size of a melon unearthed from a forgotten box in the garage. It's lovely. What secrets does it hold? What will become of it? What will become of me?