dreaming of WIlliam Holden, Ithaca and cellos

Russell has been sick. A viral upper respiratory infection according to the Dr. Nothing can be done for it, apparently, but wait it out. Meanwhile neither of us is getting too much sleep due to the incessant coughing and whining.

At some point during this illness, he has become attached to old movies. The black and white kind where the faces are all gauzy and the Americans speak with oddly foreign accents that sound like a combination of England and Connecticut. Nobody curses, sex is apparently accomplished fully clothed and without touching, all events are accompanied by violins and cellos.

Speaking of celllos, Chautauqua was its usual wonderful weekend, even though my sales were not as astonishing as past years. They were still good. We brought out the new Martha Stewart sheer voile panels in pale gray and hung them across the back and sides of the tent. What a difference. Everyone noticed. I loved it. I'll post pictures after next week's show. It made the booth look sort of ethereal, like Russell's old movies. There was even the aforementioned cello music, courtesy of the child prodigy entertaining the park visitors behind us.

Last Friday, we did a show in Ithaca, spur of the moment, and I'm so glad we did. It was a 3 hour commute each way for a 6 hour show which sounds crazy but I made money. Crazy is as crazy does. An artisan market held in the structure for the Farmer's Market. Brilliant. Fun. Academics in attendance. Perfect.

Russell spent most of the afternoon napping in the truck. He was content. Takes a lot to get us down, I think.

I sold mostly collage at this show which tickled me. Made me feel like an artist. And I have 10 days to replenish stock.

Russell is upstairs sleeping but I can hear the faint sound of proper voices speaking perfect English against the cello accompaniment. He is falling asleep to an old movie again. I  think I'll wait a bit and see if I can change it when I get up there. Last night I dreamed that William Holden was in the doorway, smoking a cigarette. I told him we didn't smoke in our house and he raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow and smiled. Creeped me out. Took a while to fall asleep again. Between the spooky apparition and the muffled coughing, it was hard to relax.

 I clicked the channels and found Mike and Frank on American Pickers. They always relax me for some reason. They were  climbing around on rafters, pulling down old gas station signs. Probably from William Holden's time. I looked at the doorway. Empty. Success.