Fall Sale on Etsy

There's a great website that has been around for some time now. It's called Etsy on Sale. It's where you can find links to a bunch of great Etsy shops that are running sales; in case that wasn't obvious by the name. This year I have joined that site. It's a fabulous way for a shop owner to run a more efficient sale. Currently sale scarves are ten dollars off. It's a great time to pick one up. This sale will end on October 5th.
Shop now.
If you don't see anything that jumps out at you in the store, have no fear. You can always contact me for a special order. Just go to the shop and click contact.
If you don't mind waiting to see what I have in store for this winter, I'll be posting new items as of October 16th.
Until that time I will be busy sewing new items. I did a bit of shopping this Summer. I did a bit of material shopping in Bali, and I am excited to share some new styles and prints.
Also, I will be at the Wiesbaden Spouse's and Civilian's Club Fall Bazaar. It is a four day event, so I'll need all the inventory I've got. If you're in the area please come see me. The event is from October 12th-14th. It's their biggest bazaar yet. I'm looking forward to it. 

Bali. The Sun Sets for the First TIme.

Our accommodations are perfect. The bed is very comfortable; which does support a bit of restfulness. Thank goodness. I'm so excited to be here that it's making it impossible to relax, but I can't run on empty.

Last night I learned a quick lesson about reality and how dependant it can be on one's perspective. We are staying in the beach town of Sanur. I've read that, unlike some of the more popular towns like Kuta or Seminyak, Sanur tends to shut down early. I arrived at the hotel at 5:30 pm. This left plenty of time for freshening up and eating a real meal. But to eat; I wanted to wait for Phil. He wasn't due to arrive until around 9:00 pm and I knew he'd be starving. I asked the concierge what time restaurants served dinner until. He said 10:00 pm. We'd be cutting it close, but we'd be able to find something. I showered and unpacked. Then I decided to take a walk to explore; and also get Phil some welcome necessities like water and beer. The sun was going down, so there was little light. The hotel was on a side street and it was relatively deserted. If I could paint the picture for you; once you leave the hotel grounds things get much dingier. The street isn't paved. There are potholes in the center and some trash along the side. Many places are surrounded by cement walls, which can make a foreigner feel alone. I couldn't remember the drive into town so much, and I didn't know how for I was going to have to walk through the barrenness to find civilization. I also was weary about it getting darker and walking back home alone. I didn't even get a quarter of a mile and I stopped at the first hole-in-the-wall that had things for sale. Literally, it was a hole in the wall. It was crude cement, just like the walls. It had one shelf lined with warm water and beer, Bintang, in two sizes, and some chips. On another wall there was a box refrigerator, plugged into an extension cord running out of the store. The refrigerator was full of cold water and beer. There was a tiny doorway in the third wall of the store and I could see it led to another room equally as awfully lit as the one I was in, but this one had a small television and a set of plastic tables and chairs. I think you could order some prepared food in there if you wanted, like fried rice or noodles. A man breezed through the door and greeted me. He was friendly and I felt guilty because I felt defensive. I asked him how much for the water and beer. His price was reasonable so I bought four large waters and four large beers. He introduced himself and asked my name. I participated in this exchange, reluctantly, because I didn't know where it was going to lead. He proceeded to not only offer me a ride back to my hotel (for a fee) but also a ride to where ever else I'd like to go (for a fee), at any time. Anyone in Bali that owns a car fancies themselves a tour guide, and they probably could be. The country isn't that big, and the driving is so insane that no tourist wants to brave it themselves. I thanked him for the offer and tried to leave. However as is customary, he asked where I was going the next day. He said I should go to the volcano, gave me a time and said he'd be there to pick me up. I had to say no four times before he finally dropped it. I left there hoping it was not always going to be such work to get a beverage.

I walked briskly back to my bungalow to wait for Phil. As I walked, I started to get the feeling I was being followed. I turned my head slightly and made eye contact with a slender man, about three feet behind me, wearing one of those filtering masks around his face. (You know the ones the dentist will wear, or people in Asia to protect them from SARS.) His general appearance made me nervous, but I was glad it wasn't the guy from the convenience store. I tried to communicate with my eyes that I was on to him; in case he was going to try to steal my bag full of water and beer. But his stroll ended abruptly at a moped parked to our left. I felt like a jerk. Why was I so paranoid? I needed to stop acting like a freak. I made it safely back to my hotel and Phil arrived at nine.

P.S. Lots of people in Bali use those masks. It protects their lungs from all the exhaust as they drive their mopeds.

Phil and I were delighted to see one another. Umm, I guess delighted isn't really the right word, but I don't know which word to use that wouldn't be an understatement. We hadn't seen one another in three months and we were in a bungalow in Bali. It more felt like the entire world was packed in butter and nothing would ever go wrong again.

Since time was slipping ever closer to ten o'clock, and neither one of us had eaten since the last plane ride, we decided to skip hunting around the deserted streets for a suitable restaurant and just eat at the hotel. Dinner was lovely, but I'll get back to that in a minute. After dinner Phil decided he wanted to go for a stroll. Despite my earlier experience I agreed. I felt better about going with someone. It would be nice to unwind after the meal and I finally felt safe. We walked past my convenience store, got to the end of the street, made a right and were warmly greeted by a bustling Sanur night-life. We walked a lovely, well lit street with lots of open shops, cafes, bars, and restaurants. I laughed at myself. How could I have been so foolish and short-sighted? I guess I was so much more concerned with being careful that it turned into being paranoid and I could have missed some good stuff. Good thing Phil showed up. Sanur was going to be great, not creepy.

And a few quick notes on dinner:

Balinesian Peanut Sauce is delicious. Balinesian rice is perfectly sticky, not too much or too little. Forget any lumpia you've ever had because Bali redefines the dish. I had lumpia packed with the freshest vegetables, only lightly fried, and served with an inspirational sweet and sour sauce. Phil had kebabs. They were gorgeous. Our first meal in Bali was amazing, and we didn't have to go very far at all. This would be a running theme throughout the vacation. The food in Bali was the very best I've ever had while on vacation. Sure, some meals were better than others, but they have a delicious cuisine in that region of the world. I'm in love.

Kaffee mit die Deutsche Frauen

I hope I spelled that right. It's supposed to read Coffee with the German Ladies.

Read about it in the journal.

Bali...What is This Place?

The date on my watch says 8/14, but it said the same thing yesterday. I've been finding it impossible to set the date and time, and have it stay correct. Last night Phil asked of it was Tuesday. I said, “Yes. (and thankfully it was) and everyday let's remind ourselves of the day otherwise we'll lose it.” Then I thought about what an interesting concept that was...to not know the day...and live unaffected by it. Could it be just a label for people that like order and organization? At work, Phil says he only ever knows when it's Friday because there is ice cream in the dining hall.

Now Tuesday is over. Today is Wednesday, the 15^th, to be orderly. I left Philadelphia on Sunday and the adventure has finally begun. When you get off the plane and enter the airport in Denpasar, Bali, you know you are not in Kansas anymore. Personally, I recognized I was definitely not in Taipei anymore. There's no Burberry in Bali; unless it's fake. It's a small, open air (I use that term lightly) airport. With the amount of tourism that Bali sees they could use an airport quadruple the size. It is (literally) packed with people. The air is quite thick. It's not a bad smell, but your nostrils are bombarded with ylang-ylang, clove cigarettes, and body odor. It's intoxicating. I don't think I've ever been anywhere that I was in such close proximity to so many people from everywhere. I'm no stranger to airports, but I didn't really know what to do so I followed the crowd.

Immediately the Balinese require that you hand over money for a tourist visa. No problem. I was expecting that. Handing out money, while never a lot of money, is a habit one needs to get used to. In Bali, you are given the opportunity to pay for anything (and everything) if you are willing. In the airport the crowd flows from the tourist visa line to a blob of humans; all fussing around an orderly pile of luggage. I grabbed mine and shuffled into another blob that appeared to be moving toward an exit. I honestly wasn't sure at that point if I was in the line going in, or out, of the airport. When I spotted a few people on my flight near me I hoped that meant I was in the right place. We were headed to a luggage screening machine that appeared to precede an exit route. I've never had my bag screened before leaving, but there is a first time for everything. Thankfully, the screening went smoothly and I rode the wave out the exit doors.

Once outside I needed to secure a ride to my hotel. There were many lines formed around the small exterior of the airport. Some of them appeared to lead to counters where you could purchase transportation. Naturally, I was prepared to wait in line for the “Taxi Service.” Before I managed the two feet distance to the end of this line I was (not warmly) greeted by a gentleman's query, “Taxi?” When I looked up at him I must have appeared startled and scared. Honestly, I didn't know what to do. You hear (and read) that one must be careful not to be taken advantage of in this scenario. Was he a real taxi driver? Would he rip me off? Would he rob or kidnap me? I had no idea, but the problem was I didn't want to be rude. I tried to pretend I didn't hear him. But again, “Taxi? Where you going?” While I didn't really want to wait in the long line I was more comfortable with doing so; even if it meant I would waste more time only to potentially be overcharged anyway. I decided to summon the courage to do the brave-world-traveler-thing. I said, “How much?” He said, “Where. Are. You. Going?”

“Oh right, sorry, to Sanur,” I said.

“200,000 Rupees.”, he said as he grabbed my bag and made to walk towards his taxi. In my head I fumbled to do the math quickly. I thought to myself, “I'm pretty sure that's $20 bucks. Not a little, but not a lot. Since he's already got my bag let's see where this goes.”

This may come as no surprise; the streets of Bali are insane. The traffic is incredibly dense and seems to have the same organization as the mobs in the airport. There are delivery trucks, buses, cars, taxis, and millions of mopeds (millions, seriously, with whole families riding on the same one) all cramming to get somewhere. I can't believe that any person gets to any destination in a timely fashion. It took the cabby 50 minutes to get me 15 miles. It was worse than trying to get through the Holland Tunnel.

This taxi driver was probably the least friendly Balinesian one could ever hope to meet, but he wasn't awful, and he didn't rob or kidnap me. He did his job and got me to my hotel, sort-of. Actually he dropped me off at the wrong hotel and I didn't notice until I waited at the counter and the receptionist told me he didn't have my reservation. I showed him my confirmation print out and he pointed down the street and around the corner. The taxi driver was gone. Bummer. Did he do that on purpose? I thanked the receptionist and walked, with luggage in tow, to my hotel. This was, definitely, not the last time my luggage got drug along an uneven sidewalk, over rocks, or through dirt on this trip. I want to use this space to give DAKINE a huge thanks. The suitcase toughed it out and is still intact, even if it is a bit worn and torn.

In the taxi driver's defense the hotel he dropped me at was The Bumas Hotel on Bumi Ayu Street and my actual hotel was Bumi Ayu Bungalows. In Bali lots of people, places, and things have the same name. If they don't have the same name they have similar names. To make matters more confusing you can't trust an address or street name. A street can potentially have an old name and/or a new name; and it isn't required to have a street sign. Said street could also have a nickname based on a popular restaurant or something that recently happened there. The building/house number can also be an issue. The numbers don't have to go in a sequential order. It seems the Balinese will give their spot on the street any number they want. They are big into lucky numbers. So if you and your neighbor have the same lucky number, guess what. You both have the same address even though you live one down (or up) from one another. Please, do not even get me started on numbers plus letters. Similar to my thoughts on being confused by what day it is; I find this nonchalance toward location (Is that the right word?) quite charming.

Am I in Bali, or Wonderland? Which side of The Looking Glass is this, anyway? If it is Wonderland; Phil is more like Alice. You might liken me to the White Rabbit; and I'm trying to keep my intensity to a minimum. That's why I am awake, journaling, and Phil is still asleep. I just can't sleep that much. This necessity to awaken is supported by the rooster that starts crowing at 4:45, his rooster friends that soon follow suit as they continue well past normal morning hours. There is also the constant droning of mopeds that may lessen during the middle of the night but is in full force after sunrise. It is a different energy that flows through life here in Bali. And I having recently been grounded in this, the other side of the world, am keenly aware of it. It feels exciting and I want to know how it all works.

The Second Half of the Flight to Bali...

My flight to Taipei was great. There are two things I like better about Asian Airlines; the food and the movie selection. Most flights to Asia from America are long. It helps that their stewardesses are sweet and attentive.

It was a 13 hour flight, through the night, for me and I didn't have a window seat. The guy sitting next to me, by the window, was really excited. I got the impression that it was his first time on an airplane. As we took off and traveled toward cruising altitude, he took pictures every 15 seconds. I wanted to ask him if it was, in fact, his first time on a plane. He didn't seem to speak English though, so I didn't bother. Then I realized, if he doesn't speak English, he probably doesn't live in America. Thus, this is at least his second time on an airplane. Maybe he just went to LA to buy a phone to take pictures on the plane, and then returned home to Taiwan. Whatever his deal was, this guy saved my life. He had a friend sitting in the middle row of the airplane. After dinner his friend suggested they sit next to one another. Instead of asking me to switch he abandoned his window seat for the middle with his buddy. I chilled on that situation for 30 minutes, then I pointed to his seat asking with my eyes, “Are you gonna sit in this seat anymore? Because if not I'd sure like to sleep in it?” With his hands and eyes, and smile he replied, “Sure, take it.” I slept like a mouse in winter all snuggled up in my corner on the airplane. It was Heaven sent. When I awoke the stewardesses were serving breakfast. The two options were; eggs or porridge. I love oatmeal and cream of wheat so I would have gone for the porridge. Fortunately, I had been tipped off, by Arianna, that the porridge may contain fish. (or fish flavor) Based on the same reasoning as mine she had chosen the porridge (on one of her trips)and regretted it. Eggs for me it was. I can't say it was my most favorite airplane meal, but the tea and fruit were nice. While eating my funky eggs, and drinking delicious tea, I watched the sun rise over the middle of the ocean. It was magical. My buddy took his seat back for landing, which I didn't mind, and proceeded to take a million more pictures.

The Taipei Airport is the most glorious airport I have ever been in. It's not even fair to call it an airport. I could have spent my entire vacation there. The terminals are intermingled with a pristine shopping experience. The airport doubles as a high-end shopping mall. I was immediately inspired to buy something, but I settled for walking around instead. In my 5 hour exploration I discovered that all of the stores were downstairs, and the restaurants, cafes, and lounges are upstairs. They even had VIP areas upstairs. I felt the need to take photos, and the funny thing is that I didn't feel weird about it. (This is not a joke) Everyone else was taking pictures too. I found a relaxing green room. It was full of fake plants and nature scenes. This room had calming music and free massage chairs for anyone waiting for a connecting flight. 

The airport also has nice, free water dispensers. You can actually fill your water bottle and not feel gross about it. (like you do when you fill it at a water fountain near a restroom in a normal restaurant) I also found a Starbucks tucked into a nook of a lounge in the airport. There was no stopping me. I made a B-line for it. I guess I have a slight Starbucks addiction. They had other American chains in the airport, but I wasn't interested. In general, I scoff at people who seek out American chain food restaurants in other countries. I used to think that those businesses should stay in America and stop trying to take over the market in other countries. I have officially retracted that opinion from my personality, based on my reaction to my Starbucks discovery. I had to; otherwise this lust for Starbucks would make me a hypocrite and I'd have to hate myself. So go get your Taco Bell in Germany, and your McDonald's in India. I'm sipping a $5.00 Starbucks coffee in Taipei and savoring every sip.

My designer coffee was the gateway drug to open my mind up to more luxury shopping. There was an adorable Burberry short-puffed-sleeve polo I wanted and some Dior perfume. Have you smelled Addict? I think it is divine. In a matter of ten minutes all sanity had left my brain. Who needs souvenirs from Bali when you can spend all your money in the Taipei Airport on merchandise you can get anywhere?

I came to my senses and boarded my next airplane empty handed. The next flight was 5 hours to Bali. Now compared to a 13 hour flight after a 14 hour layer, it seemed like a hop. On this flight I actually had a window seat. But when I arrived at it there was a young man sitting in it. I said, “I think you may be in my seat.” His reply was, “Oh really? I wasn't sure which letter was the window, so I just sat here.” I was thinking, “I don't believe that for a second. It's pretty obvious that you wanted a window seat so you decided to take it and face whatever negotiation would follow.” I thought the kid was such a turd for doing that, but then I thought about the Universe. I remembered how on the flight before the guy was cool enough to give me his seat, and I relaxed. I said, “It's definitely mine, but if you really want it, I'll give it to you. I had a window last flight.” But I was still grumpy about it so I did my best not to make friends with him on the way to Bali. 

This is a cool graffiti exhibit I found in the airport. I'm pretty sure the artist's name is BOUNCE. He creates images of a music-loving rabbit. 

I left the airport for a brief time in the morning to stroll through the fields and photograph the local workers. Just kidding, this is more wall art at the airport.

Grüner Nacht Graffiti

Graffiti from Ansbach Grüner Nacht

Fan Photos

In the five years that I have been selling scarves on Etsy I have never had a happy customer (or an angry customer for that matter) post a picture in the feedback section. In fact comments on my feedback page were so rare, I used to never check it. Recently it seems that spot has been gaining in popularity. In fact, just two weeks ago I had someone actually post an appreciation photo. I was so excited. I shamelessly begged to be allowed to put it on my FB page. So of course I had to start a new album for it.
I have had friends, and relatives, take pictures in my creations before. And I have posted them on the FB before, but until now it has never dawned on me to put them in an album. Please do not ask me why. I guess as the years go on, and I grow up, I continually do things that make more sense. I wonder, if it had not been for Mari from Finland, how long it would have taken me to do this. So, thank you Mari, and sorry to everyone that preceded Mari whose photos will remain floating down the river that is the "Wall Photos" album.
If anyone else is interested, my Etsy feedback and email inbox are always open for customer appreciation photos and comments. I'll take as many as I can get. It's not always easy to remain positive about your work when it is a materialization of your creativity. I think it is part of the human instinct to be self loathing. It never ceases to amaze me how nervous I get about posting new items in the Etsy shop, bringing items to a retailer, or showing at a bazaar. Every smile I get, and compliment I get, go a long way. These gifts for outshine any negativity I've ever received, and they are (totally) why I still do what I do. I have so much fun making scarves and sharing them with other people.

On My Way to Bali...

I think traveling on an airplane is exactly like going on a big hike. When I first get to the airport (or to the trail head) I am excited. I rarely get to be in this place, so it seems fresh and new. When I get on the plane (or begin hiking) I am attentively looking around and absorbing my surroundings. I am dreaming about the destination and how fabulous it will be. Somewhere in the middle of the flight ( a couple of hours into the hike) I begin to get bored and uncomfortable. I am no longer looking around. I am trying to think of new ways to amuse myself in my head. My surroundings have looked the same for a while and I am ready for a change. Just when I think I can't stand it anymore, and my legs feel like they are going to fall off, and I'm tired, and thirsty, and dirty, and have a headache, and have to pee....the plane lands (I reach the top of the mountain) and I am instantly rejuvenated. The world becomes new again. I can stretch and rejoice in the fruits of my labor. The view is gorgeous and I am excited for what life has to offer. It is a small portion of the general population that flies. (or hikes) I am thankful for the unique opportunity to be where I am. I may explore a bit, but I will not stay long before I move on to my next destination.

This is a scenario I lived over and over again while getting to Bali. During flights and layovers I had plenty of time to contemplate such a similarities. It took me three airplanes, four airports, and two airlines to reach the tiny island, but as life is about the journey and not the destination I enjoyed myself along the way.

I've been to California, but I've never been to LAX before. This summer I got my chance. My first thought, after leaving Philly and entering LAX, was that there was an alarming number of beautiful people gathered in one building. As I fly to different places I wonder if it is possible to generalize the type of person utilizing particular airports. If so you could make a funny cartoon series out of it.

I have a dear friend that lives in San Diego. I met her my freshman year of college, and as life took its turns we ended up falling out of contact for four years. Recently we've reunited thanks to Facebook, and I thought it would make complete sense to call on Arianna for some entertainment during my 14 hour layover. Well, San Diego is not close to LAX. When I wrote to Arianna about a meet up her exact response was, “That is sort of retarded, but yes! I suggest a weird lunch.dinner combination and/or celebrity pool party.” (In defense of Arianna I used the words retarded idea first.) Even though there was never a celebrity pool party, Arianna did come and pick me up (as promised) and fun ensued.

It was rejuvenating to see such a great friend after so long. You know how those things go. I hopped in her Prius, we picked up where we left off, and never skipped a beat. I love catching up with old friends I haven't seen in eons. I use it to remind myself of who I am and celebrate where I've been. If you have a friend you met when you were 19, and the last time you saw her you were 24, and you never saw her again, then you had that friend for five years. But if you get together with her for a day when you are 31, then you've been friends for 12 years and counting. I like to brush the dust off of my friendships and keep them polished. Exquisite relationships are something of which to be proud.

As I was saying, Arianna swooped me up for a tour of LA in a day. First, we strolled Venice Blvd. Every side street is adorable. All of the residences have respectably overgrown landscaping. It allows privacy for the homeowner, but also adds a bit of mystery for me the voyeur. Each shop, cafe, and restaurant is uber-hip on Venice Blvd. Even at 11:00 am there was a line to get in anywhere. We ate at a place called Hal's. Basically, we chose Hal's because they could seat us immediately, but I loved Hal's because it was a jazz lounge. Their food was great and they had a nice beer selection. And lucky us, it was a Sunday. As is customary for brunch, muffins came to the table. It made me feel like a school girl to indulge in beer and muffins late on a Sunday morning, laughing with my friend about boys (a husband and a fiance) while waiting for my salad in L.A.

After brunch we went to the Getty Museum. The traffic scene we were in was the best L.A. could ever know. It was smooth sailing until we got to the museum parking lot. The museum is free on Sundays, so attendance is through the roof. In case you've never been, the architecture of the Getty is the best part about the Getty. The museum building and its grounds are truly one of the most impressive sights I've seen in a while. The sky was a bold blue, the grass was just too green, and they were interrupted yet sewn together with squares, rectangles, and diagonals of cream-colored stone.

Once I had fully absorbed all that was the architecture, we toured a few exhibits. There was a large show of the work of Herb Ritt. He is a celebrity photographer that worked largely (if not solely) in black and white. You might recognize this:

I think Ritt had such a fascinating way of isolating beauty. His photographs of tone, athletic bodies and model faces seem to materialize and energize the godliness in the human form.

On this same day, the Getty was also showing a collection of drawings by Gustav Klimt. This was a fun treat for me. Since I now live in Germany, I identify (for some reason) with German and Austrian artists. (as if they are one of my own, the nerve) The collection of Klimt's drawings was the most satisfying display I've ever seen. I think sometimes when you go to an exhibit of drawings it just seems like a curator lovingly hung a bunch of trash sketches that no one needs to care about. These drawings, however, had gorgeous lines and smudge shading. They were (to be trite) complex, yet simple. There were a couple of finished works on display. The crisp detail and exact touch to the artist's hand was impressive. I was jealous to say the least. One aspect of his work that I found interesting: the nude studies and sketches were beautiful, but when the same images would be translated onto the finished work the ladies became much more garish. Personally I read it as an interpretation of power. The models being meek and powerless, with Klimt wanting his final images to be gold, and bold, and square and powerful.

We spent a greater part of the day at the Getty and needed to make our way back to the airport. Arianna couldn't drop me off with even the slightest empty belly, so we stopped to eat again. Like me, Arianna loves an easy excuse to try a new restaurant. We had (our own personal) Happy Hour at Tripel in Marina Del Ray. I think Marina Del Ray was the perfect place to round out my tour of LA. Tripel had a sharp interior, with an impressive bathroom, tons of gourmet beers, and fancy snacks. My trendy points went sky high while hanging there.

Good times, unfortunately, can not infinitely roll on. I was dropped back exactly where I started, at LAX waiting for my flight to Taipei.

Gar lustig ist die Jägerei!

Yea. I'm in a tree stand in German hunting grounds. Thanks Ludwig.

Read it.

Before I went to Bali

Before I went to Bali, Los Angeles, Illinois, and Philadelphia, and after a brief stay in New Jersey, I went to Vermont. You may have read a tiny post about it, but I've got some more to share from that excursion. My mother and I made a seven hour drive exciting by turning it into a scavenger hunt. It is such a delicious treat when you are driving in the middle of nowhere and Big Art pops up and presents itself. It happened more often than I could have hoped on our drive to Stowe. When we discovered those new treasures I just wanted to thank the person that put it there...so bad. Alas, that is impossible. So instead I took pictures of it and I am sharing it with you. Some day in the future, when my husband and I grow up, we'll buy land. And I hope he lets me, and helps me, make Big Art to share with folks like this.

Another thing that I really love is live music. And I'm sorry, I don't mean live music like festivals where you exhaust yourself by trying to see eighty bands in three days because you spent two hundred dollars on a ticket. I mean live music like when you go to a cool bar, drink an awesome beer, and listen to some dudes jam and play music because they like the sound, and they love to entertain. I mean live music at an audible decibel, people being creative with old songs you love and throwing in a couple of originals, and musicians bringing their friends on stage to sing a few lines or rip a guitar. To me, this is like Big Art on someone's lawn. It's Art for Art's sake. We got a bit of that in Vermont too. It was, so, so nice. One day in particular we drove to a small little village (big enough for a college) called Johnson. They have a free concert in their park every Tuesday evening in the Summer, B.Y.O.B. (Now that's what I'm talking about) There was a sweet band complete with a guy playing the stand-up base. The whole community was out. Vendors were selling shaved ice, Indian food, pizza, and fruit and jam. Little kids were running around. College-kid-Vermont-hippies were running around. And I was spending some quality time with my mother and sister. This little outdoor soiree was only the hors d'oeuvre to an evening of music at the bar (pizza restaurant) down the street. My sister's friend's band played, Tall Grass Get Down. Don't you just love that name? I do. They were great. With their music, they did a perfect job of summarizing our vacation in Vermont.

Bürgermeisters and Apple Butter

Read it in the Germany Journal.

Back in Germany...

I'm not even back in town two days and I'm inspired to write already. Read it here.

Homeward Bound

It's been five days since I've returned from Bali. At the moment I find myself in a location I've grown quite accustomed to in the past weeks; an airport. Not a commercial airport however; it's a military passenger terminal. I think you know what this means. My Space-A adventure will begin again. I think a few of you are familiar with my last experience. If not you can read about it on the Germany page. This time around should be much easier, so they say. I'm just trying to keep patient and persevere. This of course is easy now. I'm only one hour into the waiting. There's only one flight tonight to Ramstein, or for the rest of the weekend for that matter. I'm trying not to sweat. The retirees are making me nervous. They're good at this game, but they speculate too much. I wish they would just talk about the weather and the upcoming football season.

In other news, Bali was fabulous. The Taipei airport was pretty awesome too; as was my brief stay in LA. I've taken a substantial amount of notes in these three weeks and I can't wait to share some stories with you. These tourist posts will come sporadically in the next week or two, as I will be composing them only when I have time. I can only imagine that having not been home in seven weeks, I've got commitments to take care of and journaling may not be a priority. For this I apologize to anyone who may be waiting to hear how the trip went.

Bali is, without a doubt, the most exotic place I've ever been. It's not what I thought it was going to be, but few things are. There were some pleasant surprises, as well as not so pleasant, and a few adventures in between. I plan to be honest about my trip and what I absorbed from it. Just do me a favor, don't judge Bali based on my opinions, just judge me.

It was a great place to go for Florida Scarf. I bought a couple of new fabrics that I am excited to get home and use. I've also got some new design ideas and craft tricks. Traveling is fun, but it amazes me how much work I can turn it into. Luckily, Phil doesn't mind too much. I find just as much enjoyment in exploring as I do with sharing my finds.

Thanks for checking in with me. Hopefully, if I get on this flight, you'll be hearing from me again in a few days via my nice computer at my fun desk in my home in Deutschland. (Geez, I haven't spoken a lick of German since I left. I'm glad I can at least spell the country's name.) Maybe there is hope for me learning the language.