Well, it's official.
I'm a bag lady.
Not the kind that my grandma used to be. She's the only person I've ever known who had a part-time job as a bag lady. People would hire her to black out her teeth, mismatch her socks, put on a patched dress, and enter their bosses' domains to make a scene for about ten minutes before getting to the punchline - usually singing happy birthday to their unknowing, stressed out, embarrassed supervisor. Grocery stores, doctors' offices, my Grandma has been around. You may have seen Grandpa driving her around the Midwest, waiting in the car while she went in to her grand performance.
No, I specialize in other bags. Hand bags, purses, totes. A frenzy of creative color and accessories. I sat down at a sewing machine one day and out popped a purse. Then another. And another. I toted them down to the local coffee shop, who promptly purchased them, and Presto! I became a vendor.
The only problem with this hobby-turned-profitable-hobby is that I am accustomed to picking up and putting down projects at will. I crochet for three months, then lay it down for a year. I go through kicks and spurts. Which means that for the last several months every time I stop for a coffee Tim looks meaningfully at the bare hat rack that used to hold my wares. I need to give him a refill, but I'm nervous. Can I just sit down and do it again? Or must the Spirit move me?
Well, the thought of a small little bonus check for doing what I like anyway - being creative - certainly does drive creativity, now that I think of it. And, I did just rummage through some more vintage brooches to affix to my creations, thanks to Ebay. Maybe I do feel a creative spurt coming on. After all, one doesn't necessarily have to sing happy birthday in an IGA for kicks and giggles. But if I get bored with the purses, you never know.