A Tiny Thing To Be Thankful For

I am very thankful for the first day of the second trimester! - so technically this might be the first day of the last week of the first trimester, but whatever. It's still exciting and I'm calling it second trimester. Today, I am 12 weeks pregnant! For those who are dumbfounded that I was able to keep the secret from you, know that my own mother didn't even know until Wednesday. After two losses in a span of four months, I think I've been afraid to even mention such a treasured secret out of fear it might escape me too.

I took a test on October 10 after feeling extremely queasy at a toddler's birthday party, and it was positive. When I went in two my first appointment a couple weeks later, I expected to be about 7.5 weeks along, but the baby measured 8 weeks, 4 days. So much for knowing my fertility dates, because my body was doing its own thing. That makes me due June 14, the same day as Amy's due date. I have another friend due a week before and yet another due the week after.

At the first appointment, while I was waiting in the doctor's office for "the chat", I started breaking down in tears out of total fear, assuming I had probably already lost the baby. When the doctor saw my face, he said, "Why don't we just go take a look before we talk." Sure enough, there was a baby with a beating heart, which we were able to see but not hear yet because of the position. He said "It looks like a keeper," to which I replied, "That's what you said last time..." He told me I could come back in two weeks to take another look to ease my mind. We did return and the baby was measuring 10 weeks, 4 days, waving its arms and kicking and going strong with a heartbeat of 146. The doctor has said that everything about this pregnancy looks great and I have no reason to worry.

Thanks for your prayers and encouragement along the way, and please continue to pray over this little one. While the doctor's reassurance is wonderful, I still find myself on edge and nervous. I almost wanted to keep the secret until 20 weeks, but I don't think that would have been healthy. I read a post by a woman recently that said something along the lines of this: We have joy now. We don't know what the future holds, but there is no reason to grieve now what may not happen. So, I am choosing joy now and excited to finally share that with my friends and family. Also, as I have shared in the past, we can find joy in the hard times as well. There is always joy, because there is always hope in Jesus.

Thanksgiving

I've been MIA on my blog this week for good reason - Thanksgiving! We were in Virginia Wednesday through Friday visiting my dad's mom's side of the family which included one great aunt (my grandma's brother's wife - and the only remaining member of that generation), three second cousins and their spouses, seven second cousins once removed and two of their spouses, three second cousins thrice removed who were all under the age of seven, my parents, and my brother and sister. Wednesday we were in Lynchburg hanging out at my brother's house, and Thursday we went a little out of town near the base of Wintergreen to see the extended family. There was lots of pickin' and grinnin' and face stuffing and good stories. Many of these people I had not seen since Momsy's funeral and the rest I had probably not seen before my wedding.

Today we got together with about 35 of the Pucketts down in Fuquay Varina (Joe's grandpa had five other brothers) and did a little more face stuffing and gabbing. We get to see this crew usually once a year, though they all get together probably twice a year around the Fourth of July and Christmas. On the way there, we passed the American Legion post selling Christmas trees. We left the family after dark, but there was a fire going and lights on at the tree lot, so we pulled over and found a beautiful one to take home. We are absolutely worn out and ready for some down time tomorrow!

Just Can't Eat Bugs

I realize how utterly ridiculous this is, but because of little green worms, I don't think I will ever grow broccoli again. You may remember all the bugs on my broccoli back in the spring. Being that fall is much cooler, I was under the impression that the little green boogers would not be an issue this time around. Soon after I planted, it warmed up again and the worms ravaged my plants so badly that I had Joe spray insecticide. Things cooled down again, and by harvest I didn't see any new holes or munch marks on the broccoli or leaves. Well last night, I steamed up a healthy batch and we both took a bite or two. However, on my next fork bite, a shriveled up green guy appeared in my line of site. Immediately our faces reflected the horror of realizing we might have eaten bugs, and it practically ruined our appetites for the rest of the meal. I rubbed the worm off onto the underside of the rim of my plate, but I kept envisioning his mushed up steamed little self.

I know these bugs are totally harmless and probably would boost my protein intake. They are far less harmful than the fertilizers and pesticides on store-bought broccoli. But I just can't bring myself to knowingly munch on the muncher itself, pre-munched food isn't too bad though. It's an over-sterilized American thing, I know. I am ashamed of this. I wish I could change my ways, I really do, but I am just not that gal.

I went out this morning to look for evidence of worms and this is what I found:


a worm!


worm poops.. ewww!

Faith That Descends Mountains

Often as I write, I am tempted to hold back sharing the hard times and revealing what a jerk and failure I can be. Usually as soon as I start feeling this way, a friend will tell me how much something I've written meant to her, and it's a kick in the pants to keep on being transparent ole me, divulging far more than makes you or me comfortable. I have not always viewed hard times as a blessing and a time for growth. For half my life, I thought the good stuff was only on the mountaintops.

At a very early age of seven, I came to understand the gospel, or the good news, that although I was a broken person who was separated from God, He loved me enough to send his son Jesus to earth to live a pure life, to die a sacrificial death, and to defeat the powers of death so that not only would I have an eternity in the presence of God, but I would have peace with him and relationship with him now on this side of life. I understood that this was the most amazing thing ever, and it was not meant just for me. At an early age I was totally mesmerized by followers of Jesus that traveled to the ends of the earth to share this with people who had not heard. I knew then that I wanted to walk in their footsteps, although I was terrified of the possibility of having to eat bugs or live in a tent. I also had a very vivid imagination and deep awareness of the spiritual world around me, the things unseen, the things I feared when I went to bed at night, and the peace of God's presence in my times of fear. It was at the age of seven that I also learned the gesture of flipping someone "the bird". I knew this was a highly offensive gesture that I was never to do to another person, but I figured if anyone deserved it, it was the devil, so one night I pulled up the bed sheets to my chin and gave Satan the bird under the protection of my covers.

I clearly remember the first time feeling the overwhelming presence of God while praying with a group of girlfriends during a trip to Reynosa, Mexico where we built houses for families living on landfills. Summer trips and camp were times of amazing mountaintop experiences where I received teaching, encouragement, and got intense spiritual highs. All through high school I found myself living for times when I felt I was doing something worthy of praise, like leading Bible studies, going on missions trips, working as a camp counselor. I was so prideful and probably unapproachable and lacking empathy for other people.

By my first year in college, the deep emotional connection I felt to God, and the extreme highs from summers began to grow weaker. I felt like I was losing my faith and being shunned by God. I didn't understand why my passion seemed to fade, why I was often depressed, and what was wrong with me that I couldn't force myself to feel God. In my mind, fervency, passion, excitement, conviction of calling, all equaled strong faith. Depression, doubt, struggle, longing, equaled weak faith. I have continued to struggle in my faith as I've seen the passing of two grandparents during times of extreme doubt in eternal life, sought to honor my husband who was convicted to stay in Raleigh rather than do missions somewhere else, experienced the disappointment of not getting the job I wanted, lost two pregnancies, struggled with my perceptions of the church etc. It would seem that all the mountaintop experiences have gone, especially now that life is so normal. On a trip to Romania after my sophomore year, I confided in the missionaries I was staying with that I was struggling to feel the presence of God in my life. As they listened to me, they smiled as said, "But we can see Him working in you!"

As followers of Jesus, it should be our one and only goal to make much of Jesus - to have people see him in our lives and be drawn to him. A faith that only gratifies our longing for emotionally exhilarating spiritual experiences does not testify to the greatness of the cross, the Jesus that heals, the Jesus that weeps with us, or the Jesus that suffered, or the Jesus that restores. That faith generates artificial joy that vanishes the second the experience that elicited the initial feeling is over. My understanding of faith has changed, and in my struggles, doubts and failures, I am finding strength not in my ability to fabricate faith and joy but in the saving grace of Jesus Christ. The joy that has entered in during these last several years has been more real than any momentary bliss I found during those mountaintop experiences.

I love this passage from 1 Peter 1:

3Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, 4and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade—kept in heaven for you, 5who through faith are shielded by God's power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. 6In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. 7These have come so that your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. 8Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, 9for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

The beauty in a faith that descends mountains is that people can look in and find a Jesus that is accessible despite their own doubts, fears and struggles. As I share heartache, your own heartache resonates and hopefully my hope in Jesus begins to resonate in you as well.

Have I Told You About My First Time?

Have I told you about my first time "tooting" in front of Joe? I just read a funny story over at dooce.com and it brought tears and laughter and made me remember one of our early moments.

Joe and I were college seniors and had just started dating. I don't think we'd even kissed yet (we waited two months in to dating for that). We were hanging out in my dorm room and I was telling him a story about how I was using the bathroom at the end of the hall and called to a suite mate to bring me some reading material. My dear friend brought a photo album of my family, which was totally inappropriate for bathroom reading material since 1) there are no words to read... and 2) who wants to look at pictures of dear mom and dad while doing number TWO anyhow? Well I started cracking up at my own story, I mean I was laughing hard, and a little toot just slipped out. It caught me by so much surprise that I literally jumped from my seat and fell off my bed backwards onto the floor.

Living In Season, Out Of Comfort

From as early as I can remember, I've always longed for the changing of seasons, physical and metaphorical. By the time a season had set in, I was ready and planning for the next. As a single woman, I was absolutely desperate to be loved and swept away. I'd get insane crushes, and while never speaking a word of it to the crushee, would be analyzing every moment, look, and word. In college I began praying for my future children. I even jokingly prayed that God would give me a tolerance for football so I would not be an embittered wife on weekends in the fall. When Joe and I married, it was all I could do not to constantly think about when we'd start a family and at the same time being paranoid of pregnancy on a monthly basis.

Several years ago, Robyn Henk spoke to the women at Vintage21 about living and serving in your season. There was a time to be the single woman and serve in a way only single women are capable of, there was a time to be home with an infant, there was a time when the children were older and you could do more and engage them, and there was a time to be the older-wiser mentor. She warned us of running into conflict when we try to model our lives and service on a season that is not our own.

As I am out of the season of caring for an infant (only temporarily I hope), I find myself feeling prodded to expand my sphere of influence beyond the front door of my home. There are so many potential projects I'd love to throw myself at, such as helping start a community garden, volunteer tutoring, etc, but I do still have a toddler that seriously limits my attention span, the times I can get out, and my physical capabilities. As Daniel gets a little older, these opportunities may become more feasible, but I am still not in that season yet, and yes, it frustrates me.

While I have always rebelled against the persona of the stay-at-home, cooking, cleaning, laundry folding, diaper changing, mama, I've realized that although I may not always be able to make it out the front door, I can at least open the front door and let people in. This isn't a season I've ever really longed for, which is maybe why I've opted for the extended infant, quarantine myself from the world season. This brings me to the idea of living out of comfort. I really like being a part-time hermit. I like controlling my environment, I like choosing when and where to see people, I like not getting needy emails and phone calls. As I have taken not one but two years off from commitments other than my part time job and raising Daniel (which is a year longer than I should have), I have managed to somewhat disappear from the available friend/coach/mentor radar. I've been living incredibly selfishly. I've started to feel somewhat useless, empty, and vain.

There has to be a balance of living in the appropriate season of life, recognizing your limitations and spheres of influence, but not living for comfort. As the mom of a toddler, striving for a safe home environment is perfectly fine, but if the pursuit of the comforts of home has prevented me from taking emotional risks, pursuing and caring for other people, and allowing God to use me, then I have in a sense stopped living altogether.

So today I am taking my first risks: going to a women's ministry interest meeting, and then having some women over for dinner. It doesn't sound like much, but you have to understand I have had no one over for dinner (other than family and the community group once) since maybe last Christmas, at least as far as I am able to remember. This is sad and astounding. So, let the seasons change ;)

What A Girl Wants, What A Girl Needs ... From A Women's Ministry

This Wednesday, Pastor Tyler is hosting a women's ministry/conference interest meeting. This gets me excited on multiple levels. When women collaborate, amazing things can happen. We accomplish far more than we ever could on our own, we begin to feel connected to a larger network of people, we see the bigger picture outside of our individual lives, we find new ways to participate in building the church, we are validated in our ministries inside the home and work. A woman who has trouble making friendships may find that one sister she really connects with. A woman who has yet to find community may get drawn into a group of women who love her.

Over the years, there have been several stabs at starting a women's ministry at Vintage21. When we were very small, the church would throw women baby showers. There was a smattering of brunches here and there. Discipleship would start up under the prompting of a few more ambitious types but soon fizzle out. The DirtyDish Online, an online publication started by the women at V21 had a fairly strong run for three years, but it too has faded. There have been at least two WONDERFUL conferences in the past several years, but nothing consistent to look forward to.

I know there has been debate over whether a ministry specifically for women should even exist. For awhile, the thought process was that women should work on building friendships within their community groups and if this was actually accomplished, a larger church-wide ministry wouldn't be needed. I am starting to grow relationships with the women in my community group, but I have some core friendships with people I've known and grown to love over the years from college, past community groups or through other friends. We regularly hang out, have play dates, blog together and chat online. Growth in the church has necessitated that we spread out, but it is comforting to know that these women are still there to keep me grounded and poke fun at me in a way only people who have known me five or more years could. I'd love another medium to reconnect with these women, form new relationships, and do something that brings real change.

So what does a girl want from a women's ministry? Well, that's hard to say. I know what I don't want - brunches, recipe swaps, a lesson in how to keep a clean home, debates on homeschooling/public schooling/un-schooling, married women talking down to single women, etc. What I do want is deep discussion about how Jesus loves us, transforms, and changes us. I want us to explore how as single women, married women, mothers, divorcées, grandmothers, and widows we can love our city and even begin to change the way women relate to each other.

One of our biggest temptations is to compare ourselves to other women. We compare jobs, kids, homes, creativity, vocal talents, wardrobes, figures, spirituality, smarts, friendships, senses of humor, spouses or boyfriends, number of followers on our blogs, etc. Stay at home moms in particular struggle to find some way to assess the job they are doing and it seems the easiest way is to look to the right and left. I'm excited that women from all places in life will be getting together to explore what Jesus says about who we are. I'm hoping that as we grow in confidence in the gospel and let it wear away at our pride and insecurity, we will find ways to encourage, challenge, and care for each other.

It's A Due Date

Today marks the approximate due date of the pregnancy I lost back in March. I don't think these things ought to be forgotten. I am thankful for healing, family, friends, and the upcoming holiday season.

I was listening to some Christmas tunes on the radio this morning when Faith Hill's song "A Baby Changes Everything" came on, and I was brought back to two Christmases ago when I was in my third trimester with Daniel, absolutely huge and so ready to meet him. There was something about being that pregnant around Christmas that really touched my heart and made me cry at nearly every song related to Mary being pregnant with Jesus. Perhaps it was the hormones, but it brought a whole new side of the gospel to me that Christmas. The enormity of the grace and favor God gave to her to carry his son, the unfathomable humility of going from the all-powerful God to a helpless child, the fragility and glory of the moment of his birth - it all blows my mind.

The Church Doesn't Need Me Anymore

As Vintage21 Church has grown, one aspect I have struggled with is that the church no longer needs me. When there were only a hundred or so of us, we could see our handiwork in the physical space. We looked at a wall and knew that Daniel spent countless hours on the carpentry. We looked up at the massive burlap tree in the rafters and saw the scratches on our knuckles from stuffing the burlap sacks the day before. We heard the song that started, "My days before were filled with darkness," and we knew Tim's story and rejoiced with him. The art, the music, the events reflected our personalities, passions, and lives. If we didn't devote our time and resources, important projects would be left undone. We felt the camaraderie of defying odds, building something larger than ourselves. The atmosphere was warm and charming. We felt known by each other, we liked ourselves as a group. We were darn proud of who we were.

Things now seem to magically happen. I am not sure who does the work (though I am sure there are very hard working men and women making it happen), and decisions are made that I know nothing about. We have an amazing professional designer. Our look is polished. We aren't the hippies we once were. I took a little break to have a kid and when I came back, Vintage21 had become a well oiled machine! And because it didn't seem to miss my help in the meantime, I just figured I wasn't needed after all.

The idea that the church no longer needs me is a two-fold lie. First, God needs none of us to accomplish His work, yet it is the privileged of a lifetime that He does indeed choose us to take part in building His kingdom. It is our pride that needs to be needed and in fact prevents us from being useful. We cannot glorify God while also seeking glory for ourselves.

The second lie is that just because the work can and does happen without us, we are excused from continuing to build. Yes, we built a community and an amazing space in the early days. When the church was small, we were one big family. I tried a couple community groups early on that totally tanked, but it was okay because I felt tied in to the larger body. As the church gets larger, we have to become smaller and work to build lives together.

Joe and I joined a brand new community group in September of 2008. We came from a place of broken community, and I was personally bitter towards the church as I no longer felt connected to the larger body that had grown and changed while I was busy being pregnant and caring for a newborn. We actively decided that we could either live out our bitterness and brokenness in alienation or use our positive experiences in building community to build this new community group with the Astas.

This group has become a smaller church within the larger church to me and a picture of what the body of Christ should look like. None of us knew each other well or had much history together. We have experienced such different lives. But as a group we have clung tightly to the gospel in a way I have never experienced with another group of people. Each week we are sharing our stories, being vulnerable, laughing, crying, showing grace and love, and growing up. I have heard of communities that abandon scripture to spend more time "getting to know each other", but the irony is that nothing grows family like deep exploration of the gospel.

It seems to me that the people who have been here the longest should be the best trained, have the strongest marriages, be the most open and vulnerable, have the deepest understanding of the gospel, be the wisest and hardest working people. Our men should be elders and deacons. Our women should be leading and discipling younger women. Our legacy isn't a charming atmosphere. Our legacy is restoration - showing newlyweds how to love their spouses, redeeming broken marriages, pouring into new leaders, encouraging the pastoral staff, walking people through addictions towards healing, training new parents, living out real community, helping build up new communities, and being Jesus to those who desperately need him.

Instead of praising Jesus for his increased presence in the church, I have often mourned the loss of my own presence. This is such an embarrassing display of pride. Being a follower of Christ is about dying to ourselves, losing ourselves at the foot of the cross, abandoning all things for life in Christ. It is uncomfortable, raw, real, and the only way to find redemption.

"For me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain." Philippians 1:21

"If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me." Mark 8:34

"But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in him." Philippians 3:7-8

Church Cynicism

When Vintage21 opened the doors to a "what do you look for in a church?" group discussion in 2002, I was there. I moved with the church from a theater in Cary, to a school in Cary, to Harget Street, to Oberlin Street and then back to Harget Street. I've been with it as it grew from 40 to 1400 people and now is even larger. Early on, I viewed it as my church, the place for me to settle. There was tight interaction with the booming staff of two, my voice was heard, my opinions mattered, my actions were seen.

As we have grown and brought in new staff from other cities across the US and even the world, and as we joined up with the Acts 29 Network, I feel like I was part of a small town that was annexed by a booming metropolis. Sure, it has benefits such as switching from septic to sewer, but as the church adopts new jargon, new music, etc, I feel such resistance building in my heart. I look in the mirror and am reminded of the little old ladies at my home town church that raised up a cry when the carpet color in the church was changed, "Don't change MY church!"

I've seen people leave over the years, people who were deeply invested, people who were part of my church, people who made it feel like home. I recognize fewer faces. At times I want to resign onto the plush red couch in my living room, sit alone in cynicism feeling sorry for myself that I no longer belong - that I was somehow robbed.

I don't think this is an uncommon feeling. I think this is why people change churches so often. The root of the issue is that the church was never and will never be MY church. It is Jesus's church. The pastor is not MY pastor, but Jesus's man appointed to shepherd Jesus's people in Jesus's church. If the church were my church, we'd all eat twice-baked potatoes and fried chicken on Wednesday nights and share introspective conversation. The pastor would preach a little less on the gospel and a little more on God's will for my life. The staff would request monthly meetings with me to ask for my advice and to gain some of my wisdom. They'd probably even send someone out to mow the lawn every now and then.

If the church were my church, it would die.

The reality is, Jesus claimed Vintage21 long before I ever showed up. He has taken a small body of believers and grown it into a place where He is being made known, glorified, and worshiped. When I allow cynicism to grow in my heart towards the church and leadership, not only does it distance me from the church, but Jesus himself. Surely there are churches that do not love Jesus, and they should be criticized heavily, but Vintage21 is all about and only about Jesus. So when I harbor resentment towards the church, I am expressing a lack of trust in Jesus and elevating my own personal whims over His plan and purpose.

Church is such a messy place as it draws us in as people taught to worship ourselves and through Jesus transforms us into people who worship the most high God. This transformation takes a lifetime. I grow so impatient with myself as I take two steps forward and one step (sometimes three steps) backwards. I get ashamed of the darkness in my heart and my childish reactions to change. Fortunately, in a church that loves Jesus there is grace. There is room for repentance and restoration.

Spent!

The show today was such a blast, and I am completely worn out. I hope to be able to do it all over again in December at the Rock and Shop Market, and am crossing my fingers to hear back with good news. I sold maybe a third of the pieces I brought in and am happy to have some left overs to get me started on Christmas presents.

I've posted a review of my experiences at The Handmade Market over at www.paigepuckettpottery.com. Go take a read and check out the picture of my booth!

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

The Handmade Market today was fun and exhausting. I was happy to have the company of Joe, Sarah, my sister-in-law, and a handful of friends that stopped by to look and chat. I didn't sell as many pieces as I predicted, but I met a lot of people, gave away plenty business cards and took some cues as to what people want to buy and wish I offered more of.

There were three types of customers that came through: the collectors, the gifters, and those attracted to shiny, pretty things. Collectors look for something unique, evenly distributed weight, with balanced form, and they don't seem let price govern their choice. They see what they want (almost instantly), then check the price to make sure it's reasonable. The largest group, the gifters, look for semi-functional/semi-frivolous mid-range priced items. They will usually narrow the selection down to two or three items and then debate (with a spouse) for several minutes which their mom or in-laws or friend would like best, or be able to use the most. Those who like pretty, shiny things trend towards that cereal bowl they will use whenever clean, a pair of tea bowls for an obscure, cherished tea, or the eye-catching serving bowl that they can picture the perfect dish for at Thanksgiving. They usually have a hard time deciding between two things, may circle the other vendors, and then return to debate a little more before deciding.

My teacher Julie would chastise me, but I develop relationships with my pottery. This doesn't mean I regularly use them or display them, but it does mean I hang on to them and have a difficult time putting them up for sale. Last night as Joe and I were pricing my new pieces for the sale, he convinced me that it was time to part with some of those that I'd been greedily hanging on to. I had stacks of lovely, unique serving bowls that I agreed to display in the show, although I secretly hoped they wouldn't sell and even tried to hide the under the table... but they were found!

Several years back, I had turned in a large batch of enormous bowls to be fired in the gas kiln at NCSU, and to my dismay they came back nothing like expected. The kiln had lost power mid-firing causing the glaze to bead up in places creating these amazing bumpy terraces on the surfaces of the pots. Eventually I grew to love these. My mom has one on her mantle, but I sold one of my favorites today to a woman I immediately knew appreciate the bowl, because she immediately knew that was the bowl for her collection.

The Handmade Market Makes for a Busy Week

If you don't follow www.paigepuckettpottery.com, then you may have missed that I am selling my wares at The Handmade Market this Saturday in downtown Raleigh. Joe and I did a glaze firing this past weekend, and I am finally up to my goal of having 40-50 pieces for the show. I have no idea what to expect with respect to sales this time, but I think it will be a lot of fun to simply be in that environment and be inspired by all the other artists and crafters.

During a time when I should have been ramping up production, pottery has actually taken a back seat to my class as I don't feel right spending time at the wheel while my students wait for me to grade their work. The grading is taking a long time for this course because I like to give credit for honorable attempts which requires spending more time carefully reviewing their work. Having a toddler that tries to shut my laptop and yells when I sit down to work slows the process down even more. So while I have enough for this show, I'm behind on Christmas presents and the possibility of doing another show in a month. This is one of those balancing acts I have yet to accomplish.

Yesterday I submitted an online form to get a sales and use tax account number, so now I will be selling legitimately, and also having to deal with making a lot more change when cash is involved. Today while Daniel is at MMO, I'm going to run some errands to get business cards, a receipt pad, some fabric for the table and box stands, twine and maybe clasps for the pendants, small bills and change for the cash box, and stop by NCSU to turn in  my time sheet.

Anyhow, I hope to see some of you on Saturday. There will be a lot of great stuff to browse!

Halloween Pics