Friday, November 21, 2014


It's always so exciting starting a new project, especially when you've breed given spousal dispensation to purchase new materials for it! Browsing yarn, abusing several color choices as ugly, and picking out brand new crochet hooks is always fun. Then there's the daydreaming or searching for patterns to decide what to make. Everything about it is fun.
I don't know about you, but in the middle of the revelry I always have to try to ignore the little voice of guilt inside that tells me that I could make something awesome with materials that I already have, and that way I wouldn't be spending any money.
But how am I supposed to craft something from yarn already in my stash if I'm constantly dwindling the stash? One cannot make a blue hat if one has no blue yarn.
So in times like these, I try to quiet that little guilty voice and just focus on the excitement.
Yay! New yarn! New project!

Thursday, November 20, 2014

Thursday in History: ISS

"It's going in A collection of satellites skewered with pins and mounted in display boxes. Not necessarily MY collection."
(xkcd by Randall Munroe)
On this day in history in 1998, the first module of the International Space Station was launched. Today, the American-owned, Russian-built module Zarya is used for storage.

Looks like there's plenty of room.
(via wikipedia)

Wednesday, November 19, 2014

kindle Love

On this day in 2007, Amazon released the first Kindle e-reader, allowing users to download, browse, and ‪‎readebooks, newspapers, magazines, and other digital media.How has the e-reader affected the way that you read ‪‎books?
From the Writer's Relief facebook page
I saw this post in my facebook feed this morning and stared at the picture for a while. The first kindle I ever held looked exactly like this one, only instead of gray it was white. It had belonged to my husband’s best friend, and he had cracked one corner of the screen (a small crack). So he offered it to us after he ordered a new one. It was still attached to his amazon account, though, and he had all the Dresden Files novels. Since I had already borrowed another friend’s collection of paperbacks to read them the first time, I read them again, and didn’t mind the screen’s cracked corner one bit. I enjoyed highlighting things, getting the definition of a word immediately, and adding notes (the full keyboard was very helpful for this). I’m sure JR enjoys his Tricia-annotated kindle versions of those books now.
Eventually, my husband and I went ahead and purchased our own kindles, to buy ebooks on our own amazon account. We got the cheapest versions, sans-keyboard, and I immediately re-read everything we owned by Jim Butcher so that our versions would have all my highlights and notes. It’s definitely harder to get my thoughts down when I only have an arrow key and “enter,” but the keyboardless version is more compact, and therefore less apt to get its screen cracked if you forgot it was in your back pocket. They’re still pretty delicate, and back-pocket storage is definitely not recommended. I can proudly say that I’m still using my first kindle, while my husband is on his third (admittedly, I was the one who cracked the screen of his first one. The second was all him).
These days, I use my kindle every single day. I reread old favorites and new favorites. I find free versions of classic books and enjoy those for the first time. My favorite thing to do is read a stack of books all at once, a chapter at a time. This is something I definitely can’t do with a hardback; there’s a copy of the Ultimate Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy next to my bed, but I’d never think of thumbing through it to find the next bit, reading only one chapter, and then putting it down so that I could read a chapter of something else. A tome that heavy has to stay in your lap.
I don’t think I would trade my kindle out for a newer version, unless it was going to be the paperwhite, or something that came with a light attached to the top so I could read it in the dark and not bother my light sensitive husband if I wanted to enjoy books late into the night. I don’t think I’ll ever need a device with a touch screen; buttons suit me just fine. And while it might be nice to have something small to watch movies on while I crochet from the comfort of my own bed, I really enjoy the way I use my kindle now: for books, and only for books.

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Typical Love Story

It was the oldest story in the world: boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, for the sake of girl boy immediately dumps perfectly good girlfriend, perfectly good ex-girlfriend reveals her desire for revenge. So, you know, your typical love story.

Ethan and Madeline had a blissful eight weeks together. Near the end of the seventh week, he was beginning to forget Natasha's screeching as building security hauled her away: "How dare you treat me like this! Like garbage! Like a disgusting bug you can just squish under your shoe! You'll be sorry! You and that stupid slut you left me for!" Thankfully summer fashions had just started arriving in all the magazines, and Madeline rushed out to buy several short, flouncy dresses that distracted him completely.
It was a lucky thing that he had those few final days of happiness, because the ninth week, it happened.
Madeline was pretty hurt. It seemed like Ethan just... stopped calling. She didn't know why, or if she had done something, or if something terrible had happened to him. He was just gone.
She happened to run into Natasha several weeks later at a coffee shop, and wasn't able to hold back a few tears when she asked if Natasha had heard from him. The jilted woman shrugged. "You know men, honey," she said. "If you give them your heart, they'll rip it apart." Madeline didn't find any comfort in these words, but she nodded, understanding Natalie's position. Instead, she quietly apologized for the way things had happened. Natasha laughed good-naturedly, patted her on the arm, and said, "Don't worry about it, sweet thing, I figure we're square now."
Madeline smiled sadly and turned away just in time to miss Natasha's triumphant smirk.
Because, in fact, Ethan wasn't gone. He was at Madeline's apartment, waiting for her to come home. That's all he did these days. When it happened, when he found himself shrinking down to minuscule size, there wasn't much else he could do. He found that though he could still run, he couldn't move nearly as fast as Madeline could at a walk, and so he resigned himself to Natasha's inevitable revenge.
He didn't want to leave Madeline. He wanted to be near her always. He had told her so, two days before it happened. He would never think of leaving, but he didn't want her to see him the way he was now. At best, she would never believe it; at worst, she would drive him away.
The closest he could come to her now was when she stopped moving for the night. He would climb slowly onto her bed and nestle next to her ear, where it rested on her pillow. "I will always be here," he would whisper. "I will love you forever." Occasionally he would give into the desire to touch her, just lightly, carefully, so that she wouldn't wake up and find him there.
In the hours that he was alone, he wracked his brain to think of a way to get a message to her. He was too light to press the keys on her laptop, and his feather touch didn't register on her smartphone or iPad. Conventional writing utensils were of course too heavy for him to lift. One morning an opportunity finally arrived: the normally meticulous Madeline was in a rush and didn't have time to clean up a small pile of sugar that had been spilled on the counter. Ethan eagerly ascended to the counter as soon as the apartment door closed to begin his message.
But what would he write? "I still love you, Madeline. -Ethan" was the first thing that came to mind, and he began his work. But white sugar on a white counter would be difficult to see, and Madeline was sure to clean it up immediately when she got home, so he had to make it visible to her eye... which would be hard with the little amount of sugar that he had to work with. He decided to shorten the message: "I love you -E". She would surely understand that. It soon became apparent, however, that even his abbreviated message would be too long. He would have to settle for a heart with his first initial inside. That would have to be enough.
He was almost finished when the door opened and Madeline and her brother Jeremy walked into the kitchen. Ethan had lost track of time, and scurried off out of sight, trying not to mar his work.
"Ugh! Did you see that?!" Madeline yelped. "I knew this would happen!" To Ethan's dismay, she swept his message, his entire day's labor, off the counter and tossed it in the sink. Then he watched from his hiding spot as she got out a bottle of chemicals and proceeded to scrub the counter, muttering about vermin and early work meetings and vowing never to leave her apartment in such a state again.
"It's not the end of the world, hon," Jeremy said, kissing her on the top of her head and giving her a rather un-brother-like squeeze. "Besides, this is kind of an old building. It might not be your fault, either; maybe your neighbors are slobs."
Madeline shuddered. "I hope not," she said. "If I see something like that again, I'm going to move out."
A week later Ethan wasn't quite sure what to do. Jeremy had stayed late into the evening, as he had been doing quite a bit recently, and when Madeline went to bed, Jeremy went with her. It was time, Ethan decided, to admit that he had been living in denial for a month or two. When Jeremy had first started coming around, Ethan had just assumed that he was Madeline's brother. She hadn't ever mentioned having a brother, but now Ethan could acknowledge that it was what he had wanted to believe. He couldn't allow the thought of Madeline finding someone new to enter his mind. He couldn't believe she would give up on him; he had never given up on her.
But, he decided, that didn't mean that he would have to leave. He climbed up to his usual nightly position on Madeline's pillow and threw caution to the wind. Jeremy wasn't the only one who could be close to her. As he whispered his vows of love for what seemed like the hundredth time, Ethan climbed onto her shoulder and kissed her.
It was too much.
Madeline awoke with a scream and Ethan found himself tossed violently across the room. He landed on soft carpet in the corner next to Madeline's slippers as Jeremy started awake.
"What is it?!" he cried.
"It was crawling on me!" Madeline exclaimed, brushing her hands across her body, attempting to banish the feeling of violation. "I can't take this anymore; I'm going to have to find a new place."
Ethan watched as Jeremy put his hand on Madeline's shoulder and gave her a comforting smile. "Maybe... we could find a place together," he said. Ethan saw Madeline's face transform as a happy look came into her eyes. He could remember when she looked at him that way, and Ethan could feel his heart breaking.
He could barely hear Madeline agreeing to the proposal. All he could hear were Natasha's words echoing back to him: "How dare you... treat me like a disgusting bug you can just squish under your shoe... you'll be sorry..."
Ethan knew he had no other choice. Before Madeline could reach her slippers, Ethan stepped out into view. He heard Madeline's scream before it left her throat. He heard Jeremy assure her that he'd "take care of it." He saw the shoe descending, but did nothing to preserve his life. He didn't have a reason to anymore.

That weekend, the superintendent of Madeline's building tried to talk her out of moving. "We've never had a single roach in this building!"
"Tell that to my little trespasser," Madeline replied.
"I'll have the whole building given a once-over. A twice-over. You're such a good tenant, Miss Brooks, I'd hate to see you leave."
Madeline shook her head. "My boyfriend and I are talking about getting a place together. And it really feels like it might just be time to move on."

Natasha sipped a cappuccino in her favorite coffee shop and leisurely perused apartment listings. One caught her eye, and she grinned, taking another long sip of her drink. She waved to the barista to bring her another, and a satisfied smile settled itself onto her face. There is no one more smug than a villainess who knows she has won..

Monday, November 17, 2014


Got some stuff to do today. Mostly going to be a combination of these two things:

"Time Management" by Randall Munroe

Looks like I got my blogging done. Now it is my intention to sit down and play video games for several hours.

Friday, November 14, 2014

Make it Up

I’m making something for my sister-in-law. This is weird because, as my 4 year old put it, “she knows everything about yarn knitting!” But this isn’t yarn knitting, it’s plarn crocheting. Not that my amazing sister-in-law couldn’t manage it, she just knows I work with plarn and doesn’t have a ton of time to cut up plastic bags herself.
The pattern she sent me is for a yarn holder (yes, a yarn holder made of plarn). Instead of punching a hole in the side of a Tupperware bin and putting your yarn in there, you can crochet one. I glanced over the pattern, took the advice for a back post crochet stitch when transitioning from the base to the sides, and then just took off on my own. I’ve worked with enough patterns of this kind to just kind of make it up as I go along.
The pattern ends up being a bowl-shaped thing with a hole in the side for yarn. “But,” I thought, “What if one of the kids knocks it off the table/couch/lap where it’s sitting? The yarn will go everywhere.” There was only one solution: it needed a lid, but the pattern didn’t have one. What could I do? Well, I could leave the finished product lidless and let my sister-in-law’s yarn escape, or I could do what people did before Ravelry existed.
I could make it up myself.
All patterns are made up patterns.
I think the yarn holder is going to be pretty cute once I’m finished with it, and it’s nice to be making something with plarn that doesn’t take me months and months. Of course, it’s not using as many plastic bags as a reusable Bag the Bag is, but that’s okay. It’s going to be nice to have a finished product that doesn’t make me hate working with plarn before I’m finished with it.
Maybe when I’m done, I’ll make something similar: a basket or something. And if I can’t find a pattern for it, I’m sure I’ll be fine just making it up as I go along.

Thursday, November 13, 2014

Thursday in History: Condemned

This day in history is "get rid of your political enemies" day in England. In 1002, Ethelred II ordered the ousting (or death, he wasn't picky, really) of any Danish people in the country, and in 1553, Queen Mary I ordered the death of Thomas Cranmer and her distant cousin Lady Jane Grey. Both of these monarchs were solidifying their power and ridding the country of those who they were sure would take it from them if given the chance. It didn’t really work out for either of them.
The decades leading up to the early eleventh century saw the people of England threatened by invaders from the north. It was long before standing armies came into vogue, and so raids by opportunistic Danish clans were hard to defend against. Ethelred’s name means “noble counsel,” but when he ordered the St Brice’s Day massacre of Danish settlers, this brought on attacks from the King of Denmark himself, who chased Ethelred away took his crown.
Henry VIII went through many difficulties to make sure he had a male heir. A daughter with his first wife wasn't going to cut it, and the only way out of that marriage was to break with the church. Henry wasn't planning on starting a religious renaissance, but many of his subjects embraced his new church, to the point of being willing to die for their beliefs. Really, the only thing he wanted was to be in charge of the church so that he could say who he had divorced and who he was married to. Unfortunately, though he died with the hope that his son Edward would be a strong and healthy ruler, the prince died a mere six years after his father, and Henry's daughter took the throne.
It's not hard to imagine Mary's feelings. Her father was so disappointed that she wasn't a boy that he went so far as to defy the pope and had the audacity to declare himself the mouthpiece for God on earth. That sort of thing has got to make a girl feel like she has something to prove.
Especially when her cousin Frances does her best to make sure that she never takes the throne. Poor Jane Grey, who did not inherit much of her grandmother’s Tudor spirit, was only obeying her mother when they crowned her queen after Edward’s death, but it’s hard to explain that to an armed mob who comes to assert that it’s the daughter of the king that should rule, not the granddaughter of the king’s sister.
The first thing Mary did once she had the throne was to make sure that her subjects knew that her father's nonsense was over, and everyone was going to be Catholic again. But there were quite a few people that were loving the new ways, among them the Archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, who had helped her father divorce her mother.
Ethelred’s Danish problem wasn’t solved when he ordered that they all be killed; it led to his exile. Mary’s Protestant problem wasn’t solved when she ordered that they be executed; she died without heirs and her Protestant sister took the throne. So I guess the lesson here is: you probably shouldn’t condemn of lots of people to death if you want to keep your crown. Or, at the very least, it’s bad luck to do it on November 13th.

Wednesday, November 12, 2014


The day before yesterday, I was running around outside without a jacket on. I was sitting in the sun in the car with the windows down, sweating.
Today I’m sitting by the window, feet wrapped in thick socks, trying to steal heat from electronics under the desk. I wouldn’t dream of going outside, and even if I did, the “without a jacket” part would not enter my thoughts.
There is nothing I can do but hope that the warm weather returns and melts away the first snow, and that the snow doesn’t return until a more appropriate time, like the new year. Snow is okay, and my kids like to play in it, but I can do without the cold. I’d be happier if winter was one week long. Or maybe two at the most.
It doesn’t have to be cold for long to make me appreciate spring.

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

CoWrite: The Dance and the Distraction

I showed up late for CoWrite today, and was pretty distracted by the internet through most of this story. In fact, only the first sentence and the last three or four were mine. The rest were written by our fearless leader malie and the excellent PromptedInk. This version is my own edit, but you can certainly go and read the original on the website.

The Dance and the Distraction
"Let's dance," he said, holding out his hand.
Jessica smiled. She would have loved to hear these very words, but not from her brother. All the evening her eyes were turned toward William, who was cutting a fine figure in the suit he’d had tailored just for the occasion.
After waiting a moment for her response without receiving any, Jim took Jessica's hand and spun her onto the dance floor. As they swayed, he leaned close and spoke into his sister’s ear: "I already relieved the two ladies over at the bar. We only have about half an hour left."
"Let's make some figures to get everyone’s attention. And then you take William. Sound good?"
"I have the projections ready," Jim said, gesturing towards William. "The rest is up to you."
The song finished abruptly. The crowd hushed as the DJ got on the mic. Jessica’s face went white when she heard the DJ say William’s name. "Every birthday needs to be celebrated, and we have prepared a very special party for our beloved leader, CEO, and founder of AllStuff Industries, Sir William Jones!" Jessica cursed silently; now everyone’s attention was on her target.
Jim let go of her and whispered, "You know what to do."
He stepped away from his sister and looked towards William, calling out, "Before you make your speech, I hope I have the opportunity to tell everyone what you've done for this company!" Jim nonchalantly took the microphone from the DJ. As he began to list William's merits, Jessica walked toward her target.
The crowd was laughing along with Jim's anecdotes, and though occasionally people still glanced at William, he was no longer the center of attention. Jessica was able to slip up to him and shake his hand. "Congratulations tonight," she said quietly, going up onto her toes to kiss his cheek. He seemed to hardly notice her, but cordially shook her hand and thanked her. 
He also didn't notice that she had swapped the microchip that had been in his pocket.

Friday, November 7, 2014

Shake it Off

I was a kid in the 80s and early 90s. One thing I will never forget from my childhood (along with our telephone, rented from the phone company, and my pink bicycle with its huge banana seat) is exercise videos, and watching my mom jump, kick, and punch along with them. I never thought she was silly for wanting to exercise, but I couldn’t help but find amusement in the videos: the silly outfits, the ridiculous music, and the exercisers themselves—some videos seemed to be made for no other reason than to employ out of work dancers. I often wondered how anyone could keep up with the videos; the exercises seemed to be more for people in perfect shape than normal folks hoping to lose a few pounds. How could anyone hope to follow along?
This video has been floating around the last couple of days, and though I can tell it’s sped up to keep up with the song (I’m not a huge Taylor Swift fan, but it’s a catchy tune), I think the most hilarious thing about it (aside from the memories it brings to my mind) is the fact that in 1988 there was an Aerobics Championship.

Okay, so in the time it took me to write this, TS’ label yanked the video from youtube, but it’s still amusing. Here’s Buzzfeed’s solution to the big bad label ruining all our fun. Haters gonna hate.

Thursday, November 6, 2014

Thursday in History: Late

It would be pretty difficult to serve your country’s navy: to be away from home for months at a time, to be in dangerous situations while capturing merchant ships to support your country in a time of war, and to miss out on important things like family birthdays or current events. It would be even worse to return home and find out that the country you had been sweating and bleeding for didn’t exist anymore.
On this day in history in 1865, the CSS Shenandoah returned after a long cruise. They had been very successful in their mission to disrupt various economically important vessels of their enemies, but the mission had lasted longer than anticipated: the ship had actually circumnavigated the globe.
Unfortunately, instead of being praised as heroes and given a parade, the crew of the Shenandoah was forced to surrender. The war had ended seven months earlier and the Confederate States of America was no more.
The only Confederate flag to circumnavigate the globe,
lowered in surrender by the crew of the CSS Shenandoah
on this day in history in 1865.
(via wikipedia)
Fortunately, they had caught wind of the news and so headed to a safer port, even though it was across the Atlantic in Liverpool. They were (rightly) apprehensive about being hung for piracy in the United States, even though they hadn’t attacked any actual US vessels while they were out circumnavigating Earth and taking merchant ships.
Many of the officers and crew eventually trickled back to the New World, starting new careers or heading to college. Others joined the crews of ships heading elsewhere. So even though the CSS Shenandoah was too late to be celebrated, it was one of the Confederacy’s most successful ships.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Writing Prompt: The Search for Magic Beans
Leah's favorite story as a kid was Jack and the Beanstalk. She loved the idea of an impulse buy turning into an adventure. Not that she expected a huge ladder with a whole other world at its summit to sprout out of the top of the vase she bought at a flea market. But... what if it did?
All of her disposable income went toward buying interesting things. As much as this tendency annoyed her roommates, family, and friends, they could never say she skimped on birthday presents. Or Christmas presents. Or anniversary presents. Or "it's Tuesday and I was thinking of you" presents. In fact, she was constantly being told to cut back on giving her purchases away; as one former roommate put it: "You need to get some new friends because the ones you have now are sick of you giving them all the junk you buy."
On one un-birthday, Leah's mother suggested that she start taking her unwanted items to a thrift shop. "That way, you won’t have to give away all of the things you buy, and you might have a chance to make some money back on the things you don't want," she said. "Not that I don't like the talking Darth Vader cookie jar, hon," she added. Her roommate Ben loudly supported the idea when she told him about it later that night. "You have too much stuff in your room as it is, even with what you give away to people! Your mom is a genius."
The next time Leah stopped on the sidewalk to peruse a busker's wares, she thought about what her mother and Ben had said. She picked up a hand painted collector's plate featuring a popular NASCAR driver. Then she put it back down. Then she wondered... what if? If she didn't buy it, and it turned out to be her personal bag of magic beans, then she'd never know! Besides, she thought she'd heard her dad say once that he didn't hate NASCAR. If this particular item didn't change her life, her dad might enjoy it.
It turned out that it wasn't, and even worse, he didn't. She left the room to avoid his glare, and her mother informed her that she'd misheard her father's opinion on NASCAR: "he doesn't hate it as much as he hates Major League Baseball."
Leah avoided everything except work for the next two weeks. Her roommates didn't see much of her and neither did the owners of the antique shops she frequented. She didn't even stop in at her local coffee shop. Eventually, Ben called her mom, and the two of them knocked on her bedroom door. There was no answer.
"I'm sure I saw her go in there an hour or so ago," Ben said.
Her mother looked alarmed. "Do you think she's finally found her 'magic beans'?" she asked.
Ben shook his head. "If that were the case, we'd know."
The door opened, and a large box emerged, followed by Leah, who was straining under its weight. Ben took it from her and set it on a nearby table.
"Honey?" her mother began. "Is everything okay?"
"It's fine," Leah replied. "I'm just taking some of my stuff to the thrift store because everyone hates my hobby." She sighed as both Ben and her mother offered slight denials, then she said, "It's okay, I should have given this up years ago. I’ll get rid of everything and get on with my life, maybe find a new hobby, like saving shelter cats or knitting.... maybe both.”
Ben’s face showed that he wasn’t entirely convinced (or maybe that he wasn’t looking forward to having a crazy cat lady for a roommate), but he helpfully took several heavy things out of the box before pushing it back toward Leah. “If you’re serious, then that’s good, I guess. But you won’t be able to make it very far with so much stuff in one trip. You can take it a little bit at a time.”
“I’m proud of you, honey,” her mother told her. “This will be good for you, I know it.”
Leah was glad to get away from both of them, but also thankful that her box wasn't too heavy as she walked down the building's stairs. She knew the moment the door closed behind her that they would be discussing this new development in her impulse buying obsession.
She sighed. Over the last weeks, she had been struggling with who to blame for her "problem." For the first several days, she was angry at her friends and family. She enjoyed her hobby; why couldn't they be happy for her? If giving away her purchases was so annoying to them, why had they kept accepting them? They could have just refused to take them, or given them back to her. She was sure she would have gotten the message that way. If Leah really was turning into a pack rat, why hadn't anyone staged an intervention?
Then, she finally had a breakthrough. She was an adult; she could control herself. There was no reason she shouldn’t enjoy her hobby, as long as she didn’t let it get out of hand. And she’d never bother any of the people she loved with it again. She knew that someday she’d find her magic beans, but until then she should get rid of the things she already had. After that, she resolved that she would only buy a few things per week, then get rid of them before she bought anything else. She was determined to continue the search, even if everyone around her thought she was being ridiculous.
She rethought her plan again as she walked toward the neighborhood thrift store. It could work, couldn’t it? She could still do what she loved and not annoy her family and friends, right?
Leah rounded a corner as the late afternoon clouds parted. A ray of sunlight illuminated an old store front with a dusty sign in the window: “FOR SALE.”
She looked up at the building as though she’d never seen it before, even though she was sure she had walked past it a million times. It was a two story building sandwiched between two taller buildings on either side. The first floor was meant to be a store, while the frilly curtains covering the windows of the second floor spoke of its use as an apartment. She could see several potted plants lining the edge of the roof, and for a moment thought one of them was a thick vine, climbing into the sky. When the clouds moved across the sun, she saw she’d been mistaken about the plant, but for the first time in her life, she knew she’d found it. Her magic beans.
A few months later, Leah hung a sign in the door of her curiosity shop: “CLOSED.”
She locked the door and turned off the lights, smiling at the cheerfully painted front windows. Even though a proper sign with the name of her business was on its way, she didn’t think she’d ever get tired of seeing those words, even reading them backward, as she had to when she was inside the building: “Magic Beans.”
With a last smile at the day’s accomplishments, Leah retreated up the stairs to her kitchen. She was still putting things away after her friends had helped her move, but she was able to find her coffee mug collection. She made herself a cup and climbed the slightly rickety spiral staircase to the roof, where Ben and one of his artist friends were hard at work at the mural she’d commissioned them to paint. When they were finished, the beanstalk would stretch up the side of the tall building next door and disappear into the clouds above.
“Good day today?” Ben asked from his perch about fifteen feet above her.
Leah nodded. “Lots of new customers, plus a few I’ve seen before. I sold some of my favorite pieces, and bought a couple of really interesting things, too.”
“You know,” he said, turning back to apply green paint to the brick wall in front of him, “I kind of always thought your ‘buying stuff’ thing would bankrupt you eventually. But I’m really glad it’s going well for you now.”
Leah laughed. “And you’re glad that you’re not getting another Limited Edition Strawberry Shortcake snow globe for Christmas,” she pointed out.
“That too,” Ben admitted with a grin. “Nobody really thought you would actually find your magic beans, but you did. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks Ben,” Leah said, as she took a sip of her coffee. “I’m pretty happy too.”