D Selby Designs

I attended a seminar with Carole Fabrics this week (alone in a hotel room at night; sweet, sweet silence!) and was told by the presenter that Kentucky-Tennessee needs a sales rep. Here’s where the old curiosity neurons snapped to attention. He asked if I knew of anyone good for the job, and I quipped, “Sure! Me!”

Go figure. I love my job (most of the time). I have home and family responsibilities (see whining in previous postings). We are having a studio added to our home (if the stars ever line up favorably), and we’re fostering a gimp-legged kitten for Zach (Domino won’t stay still long enough for a decent picture). So, I’m thinking of being on the road full time? Checking into a different hotel each night? Watching TV and drinking decaf and having no one ask, “I’m going to bed. Do I take the morning pills now, or evening pills?” Heck, yeah! I love new adventures.

I sent my resume to the proper person as soon as I got home, then the next day I hit the road for my workroom in Louisville. As I’m picking up two houses full of window treatments, I ask Sandra about her Carole rep, or lack thereof. She says, “Sure, the new one just called last week.” Two things: well, heck, I wanted that job! And: hey, I’m not important enough for the new rep to call my hard-working self?

Here’s the better question: has there ever been a prettier fall Saturday morning in Kentucky? I don’t think so. Come on, Domino, let’s chase leaves!

I have just typed, then erased, one big, long moan of ‘woe is me’ concerning the care of my mother, and that was enough venting for one day. Here is the conclusion: life is never how we imagine it oughta be. Never. John Lennon was right–it’s what happens while we’re making other plans. So, preserve little nuggets of joy, contrary to Bible teaching, by putting them under memory baskets or bell jars so they can be called back when life is at its most suck-y.

I just had the loveliest memory of The Downs, high up over our Welsh village of Trerhyngyll. Greg and I sat in his car on a cool, windy May day and toasted our 25th anniversary with a bottle of champagne, a gift Carey had carted home from her school trip to Paris. The view was stupendous and the company, outstanding. And I remember my walks through the village during morning hours when it seemed that I was the only human around, followed by chickens, roosters, cats, and rustling critters in the hedgerows. Occasionally it would start misting before I got back to our house, and horses from the riding school down the lane would nicker and head for the shed. The scents were earthy, moist, green, and peaceful. That was the name of our house: Peaceful Haven–before Greg changed the name to “De’s Make Your Own Darned Bed and Breakfast”.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, and I am back.

Just as we get our kids thoroughly launched, another one shows up: at age 88! She’s a lesson in patience, repeating a sequential litany (was that word pairing redundant?) each day, but so far I’ve risen to the occasion. This weekend, brother Roger and his wife Pat visited for a night, and Pat hugged me several times–thanking me, I suppose, for not shipping Mom to Virginia!

Greg went to his mother’s family reunion in West Virginia on Saturday. He called at the beginning of it, for instructions on ‘presenting’ the dessert I sent, and then called six hours later to report on a particular family member, and my response was, “It’s still going on?!” I would have been catatonic after 3 hours. Then they went en mass to a nursing home to visit an aunt, and on to an evening music festival to wrap up the day.

Today, I’m hoping for ‘easy’. Mom is still at the kitchen table contemplating her empty oatmeal bowl while waiting for her pain pill to kick in, and I hope to paint for a couple of hours before finishing up the cornice boards Carey started for a client. Wait a minute–that last bit sounds too much like ‘labor’. Isn’t this the day to avoid labor? So, why is it called, ‘Labor Day’?