Handmade Holidays...the Countdown

Well it’s the final countdown to our Dec 3^rd grand opening and the set up fun continues.    I have to admit, I was a tiny bit relieved when Floyd and Melanie decided that Gallery 2 was still the best spot for the jewelry gallery.  

Being a creator of jewelry and maybe even more importantly a discriminating consumer of jewelry, I try to be fussy about what we accept and encourage for this event.    I think you’ll be pleased with the offerings this year finding value for unique design.  We tried to accept work that would truly be a one of a kind treasure for the gift giver to present.

Saturday turned into a long day but I left feeling self-satisfied with my efforts.   I have a little more to do to get the jewelry gallery ‘just so’ but that’s just me being fussy.  Regardless,  I’m not giving away any secrets until the opening however.

My advice is, “the early bird gets the worm” so plan on attending our opening this Saturday to get a look at the largest selection of our inventory.    Melanie and I have already begun to do our Christmas shopping and a few of our regular boutique artists have set their caps for items the same time they were dropping off their work.

I always have a little trouble switching gears from shopping for ‘me’ to shopping for everyone on my list.  For a while it seems it’s one gift for the list and one gift for me.   Well, this year is no exception and if you can keep a secret, I’m going to highlight my recent self- indulgence here.  

Melanie plans on highlighting an artist each week and I’ll probably get in trouble for leaking this one out in advance (or not if I let her use it too).  This is the cleverest little accessory;  I just had to have one.

Last week I was discussing with one of my female co-workers just how hard it is to keep my cell phone on me.    We both had a long litany of complaints and awkward places to attach our phones to us.  

Ask my family how disgusted they are at trying to reach me on a cell phone I never answer because it’s in my purse which if I have my way, I rarely carry.  In fairness though, how does a woman carry her cell phone without having a huge lump showing through her clothing or carrying it around in her hand.?   I figure I have enough lumps in places I wish I didn’t and therefore vanity keeps me from having mine on me at all times.

Ok.  Here comes the cell phone solution.  Heidi Hammel of Reclaimed Creations (http://www.reclaimed-creations.com )  has come up with a delightful, attractive and cost effective solution to how/where to carry my cell phone conveniently.  I wore this accessory all day Saturday and discovered it would even hold a pair of my inexpensive reading glasses.  I loved that I never had to dive for my phone as it was handy, dandy on my person.

Tie-bag, by Heidi Hammel

Retail price for this lovely convenience is $19.00.  We only have a few so if you know someone who might like this nifty little diddy, make sure you stop in next Saturday during our Grand Opening to be sure  to get the best selection.

~Rebekah

The Importance of Social Networking

(and other web based marketing tools)

Part 1 of an ongoing series on marketing you!

I’m straddling two worlds.  One has only to look at my LinkedIn profile to see that those two worlds collide rather oddly at times.  The really cool think is that I’m trying out all these concepts that I’ve learned over the last twenty years in a business model (art) that is high risk and which we started in one of the worse recessions since the great depression.  And….what’s cooler than that?  They work!  We are making great progress and we’re ahead of my business plan as we closed our first fiscal year and our first 2 seasons of exhibits.  But that’s another blog post on the business aspect of your art.

I’m the business end of ‘some things looming’ and I get to apply all my life lessons and my OJT (on the job training) business education to a field of endeavor that is, as a rule, weak in the area of business acumen and self-promotion.  STL exists to promote fiber art, to provide a community atmosphere for fiber artists to promote their work and earn some income and to keep the traditional fiber arts alive for the next generation.

Ok... so let’s talk as Joan Rivers used to say.  I’m going to give you some lessons in sales and then I’ll tell you what I’ve been learning.  I’m by no means an expert.  That’s good and bad.  The good part is it means you can do at least what I’ve done.  The bad part is, well, I can only take you so far.  I’m just trying to give you a head start.  A term you can forget but will make you buzz word compliant if you have any friends in sales and marketing is Sales 2.0.  It kind of boils down simplistically to a push vs. pull sales and marketing strategy.   Let’s start with the concept so you don’t start, (“la la I can’t hear you”) tuning me out of this important information.

In the past, sales and marketing had to go out and beat down the door to get your attention.  Most of us hated that approach and put ourselves on the ‘do not call’ list to avoid it.  Current buying trends are 180 degrees different.  Think about this example.  You want to buy a new refrigerator.  What’s the first thing you do?  Google it.  “Best refrigerators in 2011”…. We check out consumer reports on line.  We find forums where people have done some research or rate the refrigerators you are interested in.  It’s easy and we don’t even leave our homes to do it.  By the time we get into the car, if we even need to get into the car to go shopping, we know exactly what it is we want to buy, where to go and buy it and what price we can expect to pay for it.  All the sales work happened between us and the internet browser.  It’s the difference between ‘push’ and ‘pull’.  Old sales approach?  Push.  New sales approach?  Pull.  Buyers pull the information they want.  If you are like me when I first heard this explained, you are nodding yes right now and are a little amazed that you do this without even acknowledging how much your buying habits have changed.

What does that mean?  You don’t just need a web presence, if you are serious about your work, you have to have a web presence.  For people to know about you and want to see your work and participate in what you are doing you need to engage them so they are seeking you.  You want to be interested in ‘pulling’ up information about you.

Over time, I’ll share what we’ve tried and is working so you aren’t over whelmed with too much information.  So step one is a freebie idea.  Get yourself a Fan Page on Facebook.  It’s free.  You can upload your professional information, photos and videos and create events and invite your friends.  Once you invite your friends, you beg them to invite their friends.   If you have a web site or a blog you can put a Facebook button on it and reach out to others.

Shamelessly encourage them to ‘like’ your page.  It costs them nothing and you never know who is reading their posts to you and saying, ‘Hmm…I’d like to know more about that.  Click”  My fan page is a competition for us.  We watch our stats each week and try different things to keep our fans engaged and coming back to see what we are doing.  Instead of playing Farmville, I play Fan Page.  How can I get more people to like my page and more importantly engage with my page.  Facebook fan pages are cost effective in terms of dollars.

Don’t make the mistake of thinking that social networking is cheap, however, as the more marketing you do via the net the more time you will invest in keeping it fresh.  If you don’t keep your content fresh, you’ll be ignored.  Writing blogs, keeping up with social networks and your web pages fresh is a time commitment.  It’s well worth it and pays off.  Here’s one small statistic on us.  In one year, STL went from an emailing list of 150 to over 700.  Every week we get a few new Twitter followers.  I don’t even understand Twitter completely (More of that in a future blog).

So here's a challenge: go make your Facebook fan page.  Then invite ‘some things looming’ to ‘like’ you.  We will. And then let me know if this is helpful and a topic you’d like me to continue sharing.  Hit me up with a comment here or….(you guessed it) our Facebook Fan page, some_things_looming.

~Rebekah

Stalled.

We had just completed a successful and very pleasant dinner meeting conducting 'some things looming' business. I was feeling rather pumped up. We agreed on the name of next Spring's exhibit, mentioned some Saturday Sampler business, discussed some things about Handmade Holidays, and basically talked shop for about three hours. Good stuff. So when I got into my husband's eleven year old manual transmission car and I couldn't quite get the gear shift to go into reverse, I did what every normal human being does: I pumped the clutch a few times, and kept trying, ignoring the warning bells flashing in my head.

I got out of the Applebees parking lot, navigated past the mall, on to the highway, and was cruising along when suddenly, my car was in neutral and the stick shift had no resistance. At this point, I should perhaps explain that many Pennsylvania roads have little to no shoulder, even on the highways. I'm not sure why, other than perhaps terrain dictated the roads eons ago, and we just paved over top of the horse trails. Managing to roll my husband's car into the excuse that passed for a shoulder of the road, I was dismayed to see half my car still sticking out into the lane. I was even more dismayed to discover my cell phone battery was nearly dead; just enough life in it to make one phone call.

I tried home first, figuring the Mr. would be home by then, or at the least, The Boy would pick up. I knew he was home, and then he'd give the deets to his father. I figured wrong. On the sixth ring, I hung up, and prayed that my phone would hold out for one more call. I called my father, Floyd. "Hey Papa, you think you can come rescue me?" Every time a car swooshed past, my car swayed side to side, "I'm not in a good spot," I said, and then proceeded to give garbled directions in my hyper-adrenalinized state. In the meantime, I dug through my purse, brilliantly remembering my Tom-tom was there, and the charger for that would work for my phone. I dialed the husband's cell phone, and miraculously, he had it on him, and it was charged.

"I'm stuck on the highway," I said.

"Oh no! What happened?" He asked.

I explained in detail the clutch, the stick shift, the rolling to a slow stop on the 'shoulder' and my precarious position. "Can you call Geico? We have roadside assistance. They'll send us a tow truck."

Shortly after I hung up with him, my father called looking for me. Apparently, my directions were lousy. Another five minutes, he pulled up behind me, assessed the situation and decided he was going to walk up and around the bridge I was facing to see if there was more shoulder on the other side. I was close to an off-ramp, and he figured that there might be more space as a result. "I think I'm going to use my truck to push you a little further so your butt isn't hanging out on the road anymore. It would make me feel better," he said.

"It would make me feel better too!" I said enthusiastically. I had just spent a good part of ten minutes imagining someone rear-ending me.

I watched as my father's truck slowly inched towards my rear bumper and felt a gentle nudge. After the third tap, he called out his window, "Do you still have your emergency brake on???" Oops. I took the brake off, and we began limping our way down the "shoulder" which was narrowing down to nothing the closer we got to the bridge. Calling out directions, Dad directed me around the bridge and on to a much wider shoulder. I was now at least a foot away from the lane where vehicles were still swooping past at incredible volume. "Where on earth is all this traffic coming from at 10:00 at night?" I asked. Meanwhile, my mother, who had just returned from our meeting to find no sign of my father began frantically calling his phone, my home phone... She came home to find signs of life, but no signs of his person. It was an understandable reaction.

I hadn't heard from Jeremy, my husband, in awhile, so I called the house phone. He was still on the line with Geico, who was still trying to find a tow truck. I wondered if it would have been faster to just find one ourselves and pay for the tow, rather than use road-side assistance. I hung up and told Dad what was going on. Leaning into my drivers side window, we talked about this and that for a good fifteen minutes before my phone rang. "Ray is coming to save you," Jeremy said.

At ten forty-five, my rescuer came with his big hook and flashing lights. He took my information, and my credit card number. Dad and I piled back into his truck and he drove me home. I walked into the door, greeted by my wild-haired husband. I could tell he'd been having a time of it at home. 

"If the situation had been reversed," he said by way of greeting, "You'd have fallen apart."

"Gee thanks," I said. "As if what I went through wasn't traumatic?"

"No. It gets better. The lady on the phone was from Georgia."

"In other words, she has no idea where Reading is, or what it looks like, or where I actually was located on the highway. It was probably like playing whisper down the lane."

"Exactly." He said as he smoothed down his hair. "I had just gotten in the door, I hadn't had dinner, and I had a most pressing need to use the bathroom when you called. That alone would have made you a mess."

I had to concede that one.

"So while I was on the phone listening to the hold music, I noticed the toilet water was low and I flushed."

"It over-flowed."

"Exactly."

"And then I noticed Josh was still dressed and not anywhere near ready for bed. He hadn't taken his medicine, he wasn't in his pajamas..."

"He was still playing his video game,"

"Exactly. And since I had the girls with me at band practice, they were ALSO just now trying to get ready for bed..."

"And you were still on hold with the nice lady from Georgia."

"Yes. So after a bit she came back on the line and I asked her how many places she had called, and she said '38'" He imitated her accent perfectly, I'm sure. "And then I asked, 'how many more on your list?' She said, '42,' I said, '38?!? 42?!? Seriously?' " He flipped back into his Southern Belle Accent as he continued his story, "And she said, 'Well, a lot of them told me they refuse to drive in Reading at night' I said, 'seriously.'"

"The irony is, I wasn't any where NEAR Reading. I was on THE HIGHWAY. My best guess is that she was calling towing places and saying 'Can you tow someone in Reading?' and they tuned out," I said.

"You're probably right." Jeremy said, "So after a bit, I asked how far away she was calling for a truck. She told me as much as fifty miles away. I said 'fifty miles?!? That's practically Philadelphia! That's like an hour away!' So she told me there was this one for-pay place, and I said 'take it. I don't care if we have to pay up front and then submit the claim. Just take it.' And so she called Ray."

"I'm so glad you said that. I kind of wish we had realized sooner what was probably happening. I might not have sat so long. I'm pretty sure anyone would come to the rescue on the highway."

"I know! If she had called someone from out near Philadelphia, you'd have waited another hour."

I shuddered at the thought.

In Memory Of Ralph Koser Wittle (1922-2011)

'some things looming' will be closed for bereavement, February 12, 2011.

I hope you'll forgive me my indulgence as I include an excerpt of an article about Ralph. I guess it makes me feel good to share him with you. The "battery-operated old man" referred to his pacemaker and was his standard response to, 'How are you today Ralph?" Reply?, "Not bad for a battery-operated old man."

Ralph Wittle married my mother, about 34 years or so ago. He survived my mother by seven years. Even though he was a 'step' parent to us, we spent a lot of years together as family, and wanted to share a little bit about him. I found this brief article about him in relation to his volunteer time at the Chris Sanderson museum. It gives us a glimpse into a very nice and very interesting man.

Among many,many other things, Ralph was an artist and pretty decent writer. He knew a lot about art history and a trip to any kind of museum with him was always very enlightening. He was very well read, very political and often not politically correct. He loved God and he loved and served his country.

~Rebekah


Excerpted from, Ralph Wittle in the Volunteer Spotlight By Chip Lohmann:

Ralph Wittle, the Sanderson Museum's self-proclaimed "battery-operated old man" was born on August 30, 1922 in Florin, PA (which is now part of Mount Joy). He was anything but a lonely child as he was the youngest of 15 kids.

Ralph was inducted into the Army in September 1942 and did his basic training in Texas. Married a year later, he was sent overseas as part of the Third Battalion, 407th Regiment of the 102nd Infantry Division. Ralph landed in Cherbourg, France and was soon sent to the front as part of a forward party.

In October 1944, Ralph's unit was assigned to the area along the Netherlands/Germany border. Eventually, they participated in the Rhineland and Central Europe campaigns. He proved to be a model soldier, earning the Bronze Star, Good Conduct Medal, American Service Medal, EAME Service Medal with two bronze stars, Victory Medal, Occupation Medal, and the Combat Infantry Badge. His division took more prisoners than any other unit in the war.

During his final tour of duty, Ralph served as battalion Sergeant Major. His unit was positioned on the Elbe River when the war ended in May 1945. Ralph was later transferred to the 15th Tank Battalion which was stationed in Rothenburg, the oldest walled city in Germany. After earning enough points to be discharged, Ralph was released from the Army in February 1946.

Ralph Wittle
Ralph K. Wittle, 407th Regiment, 102nd Division, Infantry Rordorf, Germany, December 1944.

Finally a civilian again, Ralph worked in Washington, D.C. for a short while, before putting himself through the Hamilton Watch Company School in Lancaster, PA. Also attending Bowman Tech, Ralph was certified by the Horological Institute of America as a Master Watchmaker.

He eventually began work at Sears in May 1958, repairing timepieces right up to his retirement in June 1986.



For the complete article: click here.

Diary of a reluctant art gallery owner, Chapter 3

Why reluctant?

Do you ever get hair-brained ideas? (What’s the origin of that idiom, 'hair-brained' anyway?) I get crazy notions all the time. If you love me, you smile indulgently and sing praises for my visionary mind and entrepreneurial spirit, perhaps while secretly thinking I'm nuts. Want to know the truth? I think those of us who are wired like that just don’t get scared as early as the rest of you. I’m like the kid who climbs the tree too high and then realizes, “Oh my, I could die if I fall down.” Too late now Sherlock, you’re 100 feet up and out on a branch that’s swinging. Now, looking down, the adrenaline starts pumping through the system so you can accomplish the unfathomable but completely necessary, things that you ordinarily would never dream you could do. The need to survive is a strong motivator, yes?

It sounds riskier than it is. Naïve? Oh, yes to some degrees. Guilty. However I would be untruthful if I said I didn’t carefully consider and calculate how to successfully climb that tree. It’s just that I sometimes find myself surprised and terrified by where my actions have placed me. Maybe a better way to view it is, I’m ok while I’m climbing, but every now and again I look down, see where I am, see the risk of falling and then I’m terrified.

So back to ‘reluctant’. Go back in time about five years or so. I saw this lovely little gallery in Philadelphia while visiting an exhibit in which Melanie was included. It was basically a little row sort of like some things looming (do you see where this is heading?) and on the ride home I said to the ever loving and indulgent spouse, “We could do that you know.” Maybe he’s indulgent or he's just as slightly mad as me, but he agreed we could and that’s as far as it goes.

Fast forward closer to the present when the spouse and I began cruising Reading on Sunday afternoons after church. First it was him trying to convince me to live downtown (which we now actually do) and then it was both of us remembering that remark five years earlier about the row in Philly and thinking, “If we could find just the right property near Goggleworks, we could rent to other artists and Melanie could move her equipment out of her home. It would be a good investment for us and for Reading."

As usual, one thing has led to another and to another. I never meant for the gallery to weigh so prominently in the picture. While I was an avid proponent of owning and renting some commercial space, I initially saw the wonderful community being integral with the vision, and the gallery holding moderate importance. I resisted references to us being a gallery for sometime but indeed we have become that and more. I never envisioned it becoming so central to who and what we are. However, I still prefer the term "community" better because that is what we are trying to build: a community for the artist, the hobbyist and the lovers of art. A community that provides a place where everyone gets to do what they love to do, to have their work appreciated and to make some income from its creation.

Reluctant? Not so much anymore…. But I’d be lying to say I’m not still looking down from that branch from time to time with my head spinning and my tummy rolling. It’s not good to look down. I’m going to try to keep looking up and out.

~Rebekah

Word for the day: Anthropomorphism

Anthropomorphism. Sounds like a germ doesn’t it? It can be passed along (I’m sure I got it from my mother) and it can definitely have unpleasant consequences (attic-itis…a swelling of the contents of one’s attic). This is the act of assigning feelings and humanity to inanimate objects. It has caused me to hang on to many things that I should throw away, caused my daughter to have a collection of hundreds of teddy bears, most of which talked to me and of course some that ended up talking to her, and to keep broken bits of this and that in the name of family history and sentiment.

Old buildings have been talking to me since I was 8 years old. The first building I fell in love with and talked back to me was along my walk to school. It was this wonderful brick house, with a nice front porch that had pretty wrought iron trim on either side of the porch. I could see amongst the over grown shrubs and little out-buildings that it had been a beautiful little home with a warm and welcoming back yard. I could see it in its former glory and wondered at the people who might have lived there, loved it and cared enough to make it so beautiful. I would whisper prayers for it that someone would buy it and love it back to beautiful again.

This ‘thing’ that makes me want to tangibly see and feel the beauty of the past has never left me. Reading, Pennsylvania speaks to me that way. It makes me love the city to the point It almost hurts. I see these beautiful old buildings all around me and I can imagine them restored to their former glory. I can imagine all the lives that have passed through them when they were new and loved.

I sigh over the wonderful roof lines, the turrets, the bay windows, the stained glass transoms and pretty little decorative window accents, the wrought iron trim and fencing, the miles of brick, the stone that looks like it was fire kissed…but clearly really wasn’t. And that’s just the little row homes that line most of the city streets. Stop for a minute and stand still on Penn Street. Take a look up at those old multi-storied banks and buildings. There’s some amazing detail on some of those wonderful old buildings.

Why do I share this today? Because last week we received the most delightful surprise from the city. We were selected to receive a commendation for our restoration work on 526 Washington Street, home of some things looming. She’s a sweet little row that was probably always commercial space with the owner living and working there, perhaps on the third floor where Melanie has her studios now. Tonight we will go to city hall and receive a certificate of commendation. It has been a long, but wonderful journey bringing 526 back to her former glory, with a bit of a modern twist. We hope you stop by sometime, enjoy the art, and the ambiance of our building.

~Rebekah

Diary of a reluctant art gallery owner, Chapter 2

Mother’s day was the opening of text/textile. Wow has it turned out great. This is the first salon style show we’ve hung in the space and I think all of us were delighted that the gallery easily took the 25 or so pieces comfortably. It was really interesting because we had seen this show in another space in Philadelphia. It was beautiful there too but, pardon my prejudice, it seems even more lovely here.

And…guess what? We sold our first piece out of the gallery. I probably shouldn’t admit this (but I’ve decided to be transparent here) , I was so stunned, I didn’t really know what to do for a split second or two. Remember me? The woman who has spent the last 20 some years in a high tech software business? Thank goodness KP was there and brought me out of my momentary coma.

After that our biggest challenge was finding a red pen to put the ceremonial red dot on the exhibit tag. Whoo Hoo! That was so way cool! Nice encouragement for us and for the artist. I loved being able to write that email. And as thrilling as it is for us, it’s almost more exciting to be able to provide the venue of encouragement for these wonderfully talented individuals.

Author Elizabeth Bodien was there on Sunday to do a reading and that was really awesome too. You could have heard a pin drop as the group listening was so enthralled listening to her words. It’s fun to cross promote the arts like that. And what an encouragement she was to me. She was surprised that we could put on such a nice exhibit considering we have only been open two months. That was a great reminder. I’m sometimes a little hard on us. We really have done a lot and in a little bit of time.

The show is short running, closing on June 13^th. If you are close by, stop in to see this wonderful show and say hello to the ‘reluctant’ gallery owner. (One of these days I’ll explain why the ‘reluctant’.)

Rebekah

Diary of a reluctant art gallery owner, Chapter 1

What do I know about art? Well, I know what I like and I like most everything that is honest and surprises me on some level but that’s a most unsophisticated confession now, isn’t it? This isn’t new. I almost went to art school myself. I didn’t have the guts and took a safer road. I admire those of you who have the talent and the courage to go after your dreams.

Frankly, I’m a business woman. I’m not sure how that happened either but that’s another blog. So for the last 20 some years I’ve hung around in my husband’s business interests doing just about every job you could imagine and motivated by my desire to eat regularly. I’ve learned a lot about what it’s ‘really’ like to work for yourself (its hard) and what it really takes to be successful (lot’s of sacrifice and money if you can scrape it up). So when I ought to be seriously thinking about retiring and taking life easy, I’m “re-firing” and once again starting up a new business. And the truth here is that it’s lots of fun for me.

I love a challenge and believe me, art and business are a bit like oil and water. I’m challenged to prove that good business principles when applied to an unlikely commodity can indeed prosper. And perhaps my bigger challenge is in disciplining myself to follow those principles and not get caught up emotionally in what seems right vs analyzing the situation and planning so that the steps we take are right. Again….confessions for another day….

So here I am emotionally naked before you and intending to bare my soul as I share my prospective on our striving to realize this vision we have named, “some things looming”. I should have started blogging sooner. There have been many days where I have had to talk myself back in off the ledge wondering what I’ve bitten off here. So far I’ve managed or my partners Melanie and Floyd have managed to help me refocus and find my two feet once again safely on the ground. Anyway, you are catching me on a good day today. Don’t lose heart for those of you who enjoy that sort of voyeurism, I’m sure if you hang around long enough, you will get to experience that with me yet again. It’s a roller coaster at times. There are these wonderful moments of encouragement and then the great leaps of faith that take such incredible courage that I think I just won’t be able to find again within me…..and then…somehow I do.

Stay tuned for the ride.

Rebekah

Paint, 2. Us, 0.

The evening started out well. We arrived at some things looming, and gleefully tore into packages that had arrived via UPS. It was like Christmas all over again, as Rebekah and I examined the artwork and posters she had purchased online to adorn the walls of the building. Jeremy, my husband, computer tech guru, and sometimes helper-elf, arrived shortly before the pizza delivery. We ate dinner, formed a plan of attack, assigned tasks to one another, and dug in. Rebekah (aka Mom) and I decided we'd finish painting the bathroom doors in the basement. It was a good plan, and was going along smoothly until the paint gremlins got us.

Rebekah was painting the bright lime green at the bottom of her door, when it looked as if she slipped, knocking her can of paint over. "Oh no, Melanie! Help!" She called, as it oozed out of the can, and glopped lazily across the basement floor. The paint didn't even have the decency to land on our cardboard "drop cloth." As I went to step down from my perch on a folding chair, I landed on top of my bright pink paint.

"Oh No!" I said. I helplessly watched, brush in hand, as more paint puddled under my feet. I couldn't think, my brain seized up. "Call for your Dad. We need help," Rebekah said.

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad! Dad?!"

"Floyd!?"

We called simultaneously up to my father, Floyd, fix-it expert of all things and rescuers of damsels in distress. He took one look and said, "You can scoop that back up into the paint can."

"But your floor..." Rebekah began.

"It'll clean up. That's why I varnished it. Yo, Mel. You're making a trail."

"But I took off my shoes and socks," I said as I hopped towards the double basin sink.

"Well, you're dripping."

I looked at the bottom of my jeans, and sure enough, they had been dipped in pink paint. I had to flip up the cuffs to stop making pink tracks across the floor. Meanwhile, Jeremy wandered down, wondering about all the commotion. Handing him a bucket and a sponge, we enlisted Jer on clean-up duty.

"It was the weirdest thing, like the paint gremlins got us," Rebekah said. "Honestly it was just one can after another."

"Well, I think we oughta just call it a night, "I said. "Usually when stuff starts to go this wrong, I take it as a sign, and pack it up."

"I'm with you."

Melanie