|This is from Etsy, someplace.|
Well, you know (if you've been paying attention) that I have been out of touch with reality by being in upstate NY in my mom's apartment! *sigh* So I need to back up a little.
About four months ago I needed to find a second place to sell my furniture, because my friends who own Elizabeth's were getting rid of booth space and going strictly consignment. This is great for big pieces, but not so much for all my smalls. (Which, of course, I had been gathering feverishly so that now I have about twenty copier paper boxes full.) It left me kind of in a quandary. I went on-line, hoping to find a place that was a good fit--one with a good vibe and nice people. I found the spot of my dreams about 30 minutes away, in the town where my son goes to grad school. No one else there had my aesthetic, and yet everyone had great taste. I asked if there were any booths available, and of course there were not--with a waiting list of a dozen or more names. I sighed, left my card, and walked out with my head low, feeling like this was the only place for me. Remembering that the folks who own Elizabeth's had met a nice lady with a shop about another half hour east, I decided to drive there. The shop was a little dishevelled, but the folks were accommodating and the "sister" store, which was up and running, was beautiful. I took a chance, and took a booth (more about that here) and after the first month, I was doing well. Then the roof caved in. Literally.
I got a phone call the day before I left for NY. It went something like this:
Voice: Hi. Is this Kirby?
Voice: Have you heard anything from The Gingham Daisy?
Voice: Let me put it this way...have you heard anything ABOUT The Gingham Daisy?
Voice: I'm surprised. It's been all over the news.
Me (suspiciously): What has?
Voice: The roof caved in.
Me: What do you mean?
Voice: I mean that the roof collapsed.
Me: Well, $hit. Was anyone hurt?
Voice: No, it happened at night.
Me: That's good. What's up with the second floor?
Voice: We're calling it a total loss. The firemen let us get stuff off the main floor, but the building has been condemned.
Me (After picturing hunky firemen): Umm hmmm.
Voice: Just so you know.
Me: *sigh* Well, I guess I'll eventually need a statement from The Daisy's insurance agent, and one stating that the second floor was a loss and I'll have to present it with my taxes.
Voice: Well, you're not insured.
Me: Right. But I can write it off as a loss.
Voice (a female who sounds about 11 years old.): Whatever. But you can't go in there.
Me: Obviously we have to be concerned about safety.
Voice: So you can't go in.
It was all downhill from there.
And then...I got another call. Not five minutes later. A call from the first place I looked at, the one in my son's town.
The conversation went something like this:
Denise: Kirby? This is Denise at the Shoppes.
Me (containing my exitement): Oh! Hi!
Denise: I know this is short notice, but Brooke and I were at The Gingham Daisy last week and we saw your booth and it was just so cute!
Me: Thanks. (Not volunteering that the booth is not there any more.)
Denise: Anyway, one of our vendors is an artist and he is moving back to New York City and we are going to have a space open. We were wondering if you would like first crack at it.
Me: Oh? (Feigning only mild interest, while the rest of me is going "YES!!")
Denise: It'll be empty the first of August.
Me: Well, I'll be out of town, but I could get in there the first weekend.
Denise: That would be great. It's the corner spot in the main room.
Me (Knowing which one it was already, because they had only one male artist): That'll be perfect.
Mainly because my other booth has disappeared under a 125 year-old roof.